By Grace We Are Saved
by Arisprite
Summary: Without much farewell, Castiel sacrifices himself as a final seal on the trials. Dean is left shattered and Sam, still recovering, calls Charlie to help him pick up the pieces. But the next day, Sam gets a call from Castiel, who's about to be discharged from Lawrence Memorial, in great need of help and insistent that Dean be kept in the dark about his survival. AU to end of S8
1. Sacrifice

Title: By Grace We Are Saved: Chapter 1: Sacrifice

Author: archi, Arisprite

Story Summary: Without much to offer in the way of farewell, Castiel sacrifices himself as a final seal on the trials. Dean is left shattered and Sam, still recovering, calls Charlie to help him pick up the pieces.

But the next day, Sam gets a call from Castiel, who's about to be discharged from Lawrence Memorial Hospital, in great need of help and insistent that Dean be kept in the dark about his survival, at least until he gets his sea-legs.

Chapter Summary: Cas said he knew how to fix it, knew what to do. Ice cold and thick as molasses the realization stuck in Dean's throat and found passage through his veins, right down to his toes, freezing him in place. It wasn't surprise, though, or shock, just a final decisive crack in a pattern of splinters that wound around his heart, all affixed with the grief of losing him.

Notes: This is a labor of love between me (Arisprite) and my roommate, best friend and the Dean to my Cas, archi. We wrote this together on AO3, and then she gave me permission to post it here. I will do so quickly, for forgive me for your inboxes if you follow me and don't read spn.

Another thing, this verse skirts the line of destiel pretty heavily. There is a kiss, but basically we wanted to make this something non-shippers and shippers alike could read and be satisfied with. I hope we accomplished this.

It is an AU of season 8, splitting off sometime before 8x22. Basically, Hell does get closed, and Cas still falls, but the other angels don't. Plot is actually pretty hazy intentionally, as we were more concerned with the fall out emotionally. I will be labeling which parts archi wrote, which ones I did, and which we did together. Some sections overlap as told from different pov. This one is Castiel's POV

* * *

It took a moment for Castiel's words to work through the gears of Dean's mind. The wind pushed against the shells of his ears and ripped between the layers of his clothing as the tempests of heaven and hell raged above them, the battle expanding in violent clashes.

Cas said he knew how to fix it, knew what to do. Ice cold and thick as molasses the realization stuck in Dean's throat and found passage through his veins, right down to his toes, freezing him in place. It wasn't surprise, though, or shock, just a final decisive crack in a pattern of splinters that wound around his heart, all affixed with the grief of losing _him_.

Castiel turned his face to Dean, expression trembling between resignation, resolve, and the most terrible apology. Sam, already overtaxed by the trials, staggered into Dean as he too received the full force of Castiel's meaning. Dean was aware in a distant sort of way that Sam's too-big hand was gripping his elbow tightly, but he couldn't feel it. Cas looked just a glance away to Sam, solemnity giving way to a gentle smile – broken and shattered, but fond, and too awful to linger on.

"No," Sam gasped.

"It's the only way, Sam," Cas' voice could barely be heard over the air whipping about them, but it was firm and gentle all at once, and Dean wondered at the way Cas shrouded this _wrong wrong wrong_ in such a soothing tone. When had Heaven's Hammer learnt to wrap his thunderbolts in downy comforters?

_Sacrifice…sacrifice_…Cas.

There was a flurry of words from his side – Sam arguing, pleading, hold on, we can try something else, we'll figure it out, please Cas, no…

The paralysis slowly worked its way backwards and Dean became aware again of the frantic pull of the wind through his clothing, Sam's trembling fingers.

"We're running out of time," Cas said. Sam shook his head, too weak to stagger back as Cas approached, reaching up. Sam's protests died as his head was gently pulled down. Cas planted a careful kiss on Sam's brow as the tired eyes slipped close in acceptance.

"Goodbye, Sam. Thank you."

Sam nodded as Cas' fingers fell away, "Bye, Cas," his voice shuddered over the raw edges in his throat.

Dean swallowed around the persistent remnants of paralysis, unable to push anything but shaky breaths past, which anyway stopped as Cas once again looked to him. A new heaviness settled over the drooping edges of his eyes and Dean saw in them every other moment, every parting and every other apology all boiling together in a terrible crescendo – to this moment that felt so much more like the last. The sorry that Dean wanted least of all.

He didn't know if Sam had let go or if he'd simply stepped back but all he felt was the fierce storm tearing moisture away as it blurred his vision and crept past his eyelids. He gasped a little, blinking and trying to clear his vision, trying to hold on to every sense that fed him any part of his friend.

"Cas…" the pathetic noise ripped out, raw and pleading, "Don't."

Confusion and anger tore at his heart as Castiel's face relaxed, as if exhaling his apology into the skies, his expression settling into a sad sort of peace. "I am sorry that it's ending this way, Dean," he looked away, just for a moment, then back, "But…I don't regret it."

Dean swallowed, blinking again to bring his vision into focus.

"Not one instant, Dean. Do you understand?"

He wanted to shake his head, roar that Cas shouldn't have been lost or sorry or confused or anything that he'd ever been on account of Dean. _Lost fallen angry sorry..so sorry._

But then Cas was coming closer and his anger was lost in a flash of panic but he was rooted to the spot as finger pads found landing in the hair on the side of his head and Cas' thumb ghosted over his eyelashes and slipped a little on stray tears as Dean's lids closed. And then there were lips against his own, warm and chapped, and in the chaste exchange everything but Cas fell away and Dean's fingers trembled in the folds of the worn overcoat sleeves.

And in those moments his caught breath was a blessing as he tried to be still, eyebrows pulled together as he just _felt_…the unfamiliar gentle scrape of stubble…the press of Cas' sharp nose into his cheekbone and maybe it was the only speck of shining_rightness_ in this overwhelming _wrong_.

And he breathed as Cas pulled back and felt a shuddering breath turned back on his lips, and Dean couldn't _not_ look at the redness creeping in the corner of Cas' eye or the way his mouth pulled tight and they simply looked.

Then Cas blinked, stepped back, nodded, and turned.

He strode away, the upright angel in a man's suit, moving purposefully towards his death, face upturned as if it were the most natural thing and Dean's entire being screamed at the _wrong wrong wrong_ and Dean's feet made to run after him but Sam staggered into his side, straining and weak in the fury, and Dean looked away just for a moment to steady his brother.

And when he looked up again to find Cas, to hold onto the sight of dark, whipping hair and the billowing tan, he found only the raging of the trees and leaves and grass, trying to follow his friend into the heavens.


	2. Tenderness

Chapter Title: Tenderness

Author: archi, Arisprite

Summary: And how terribly sound his understanding was even as the rest of him was falling to pieces. Sam POV companion piece to "Sacrifice" Sam POV

* * *

God, he wished the wind would stop. It howled too loud and pulled to hard and he felt like an inflatable punch doll - too heavy to be carried away but swayed to, to and fro. Castiel was talking and he couldn't hear him but he saw the instant Dean stiffened.

He strained his ears and looked back to Castiel, and saw... oh, he knew that face, and suddenly Dean's rigid posture made sense. He knew what brought on this marble facade and he knew all too well that resolve, the burden that settled on Cas' shoulders. The stupid bastard was going to sacrifice himself.

His knees gave way a little and he staggered into his brother, grabbing tight to Dean's arm.

"No," he willed his voice to overpower the howling wind.

"It's the only way, Sam," Cas was calm, as if he didn't feel the salesman's coat furling around him or the violent raking of his hair.

"Hold on Cas, not again - we know better than this, there's something else," the words tumbled from his mouth and he knew even as he said them it was pointless, "There's another way, we just have to find it, come on, Castiel, please, don't..."

"We're running out of time," Cas said, as if he hadn't heard him.

Sam was tired, so tired, and he didn't know why Cas was coming towards him until he realized that of course, there'd be a farewell of sorts, and then hands were ever-so-gently pulling his head down and he supposed Cas must have kissed his head but he was so tired and his body begged to be let down and allowed to rest...

His eyes closed. Castiel would sacrifice himself. There was nothing Sam could do to stop him.

"Goodbye, Sam. Thank you." And Sam knew it was as much for that moment as anything else - for not fighting, for allowing Cas to do this and how terribly sound his understanding was even as the rest of him was falling to pieces.

He managed a nod, willing himself to pull upright again, "Bye Cas."

Cas spared him a final moment of eye contact, and a tired, sad, wish-me-luck sort of expression fell over his face. Sam's moment of acceptance was pulled away with Cas' gaze, carried away in the wind as the angel looked to his brother.

Dean.

_Dean._

_no._

No. Not again. Not another loss, not another sacrifice, not another name to be avoided. And just no - not Cas, not now.

But Cas was Cas, and he'd do it. He'd leave and the unfairness hit Sam because he knew enough to know that Cas didn't _want_ to leave and that's all Dean wanted from him - just to _stay_ - but now...

He stepped back. He couldn't fix it. Couldn't stop any of it, but he could step back and give them these last few torrid moments. It would never be enough and Sam was so weak but he'd done harder things so he let himself release Dean's arm and fought to keep a semblance of balance.

"Cas...don't," the words wrenched from Dean - somewhere deep and hurt. Sam hated that tone - his big, brave, thirty-something year old brother sounding like a lost child.

"I am sorry that it's ending this way, Dean." Castiel's voice carried and Sam didn't mean to hear but he did and every word constricted his heart a little more. "But...I don't regret it. Not one instant, Dean. Do you understand?"

Dean didn't answer but he must have made some expression because something in Castiel's posture changed and he was in front of Dean, now, reaching forward with the most amazing gentleness and Sam remembered that this was an _angel_ and it was beautiful in a twisted sort of way that Cas looked at Dean in that way pulled him in and Sam could feel his own face contorting and tears spilling out as Cas and his brother kissed.

And _God_, he'd never seen anything like that. He was always passion and heat and aggression and there wasn't an ounce of anything like that with them - just...just affection, and apology and love and he gasped and cried all the harder for the damned tenderness in this hell-hole of a situation.

And neither of them moved except Dean's hands as they begged limply at Castiel's coat sleeves.

And then Cas was stepping back and another moment passed where the two just _looked_at each other, having another one of those silent conversations that Sam wasn't privy to, until Cas turned and started walking away. The wind was picking up and his legs were so damn tired and his arms and torso were so heavy and he couldn't hold himself up alone anymore and he hurt everywhere and so he fell back into his brother - who caught him. Because Dean always caught him.

And when he had gathered himself enough to look over in the direction Cas had been walking...Cas was gone.


	3. The Way

Chapter Title: The Way

Author: archi, Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Castiel remembered a time when he could have simply flown off without explanation. But now... Cas POV companion piece to "Sacrifice" and "Tenderness"

* * *

Castiel wasn't a fool. He knew what must be done. Knew the price, knew the poetic quality it took on. He supposed the repetition gave his existence a cohesive shape, and despite the part of his mind - the part he'd been paying more attention to as of late - cried out in the great injustice of it all, the older part of his mind - steady and dutiful - knew. He could do it alone, lay up his grace to be torn away and although he could wish that his...well, whatever was left of an angel after this sort of thing - he might wish to survive, but he doubted very much the likelihood of that outcome.

No. He would go, head level and he would die.

And he would not return this time, because sacrifices do not survive. Not even angels. Certainly not Castiel, who hardly qualified these days.

Perhaps this is why he'd been brought back, again and again.

_Maybe to fix it._

The words echoed back from so long ago, and he sighed. _Fixing fixing, always fixing._

He prayed that this final act would be enough to clean his slate. There was, after all, no more that he could offer.

Castiel became aware again, slowly, of his surroundings. Heaven raged above and Hell shook below and there he was with Dean and Sam in a great field, just outside of Lawrence, Kansas (Now wasn't that always the way of things), and Cas was reminded forcibly of the Wizard of Oz. He remembered the small stir the movie had caused in it's own time, color, and all that - and Dean's insistence more recently that he experience it first hand. _Cas, man, it's a classic._

He inhaled and then pushed the air out, shaping them into words he knew would...well...it didn't matter how they were received, it didn't change a thing... he remembered a time when he could have simply flown off without explanation.

But now...

"There's a way," he pushed the air out harder to be heard, and the Winchesters turned to him, "I can stop it - I can get between them and...And I'll put my grace there and it should, should blow both gates shut, or at least cause a big enough explosion to give you time. But it should work - it should close them if I understand the tablet correctly. Metatron said - you weren't there, but -"

Dean was staring at him and it was exactly the expression he'd prayed never to see again, the exact expression Castiel knew he'd make. He looked to Sam - large and broken and weak and Castiel wanted more than anything in that moment to fix him. And this would - this would fix him. He could sacrifice himself and Sam would heal and be free from Heaven and Hell and Castiel wanted so much to do that for Sam...let him grow old, whole and human.

"No."

"It's the only way, Sam." _Please, let me fix you. Let me save you._

He tried his best not to shake his head as Sam protested.

"We're running out of time." Castiel stepped towards Sam, trying to be gentle as he pulled his forehead towards his own lips. _All will be well, Sam._

Sam didn't argue, didn't struggle, and Cas was grateful. A low, churning ache was building inside him, and he didn't want to think about what would happen after he turned away from this calm acceptance - too graceful and kind for this moment and precisely what Castiel needed.

"Goodbye, Sam. Thank you."

Sam stood upright again, slowly, "Bye, Cas."

The building ache clenched painfully at his vessel's body, and he looked to Dean.

Dean.

_I'm sorry._

_I don't want to leave._

_I'm sorry for hurting you._

_I'm sorry that I can't stay with you._

_I'm sorry, Dean. So very sorry._

Sam stepped away from Dean, and again the sweet tendrils of thanks soothed the edges of the burning ache in Castiel.

Dean's eyes had gone red around the edges and he was crying, the tears making tracks across his face when the wind pushed at them. And they were dirty and tired and so sorry, all of them, but Dean...Cas thought of the bright soul he'd wrested from Hell and this man in front of him - beautiful and so convinced of his own mediocrity, and so, so perfect in his flaws. Still so bright. _I know you wanted me to stay and I want to but I want you to_ live _more. It's all that's left._

"Cas...don't..." He was so bright and so sad, and Cas wanted him to be peaceful, just once, just once before he left.

"I am sorry that it's ending this way, Dean," something caught in his throat and he bowed his head to clear it, "But...I don't regret it." He sought Dean's gaze again. Blinking, red and green and wet and Cas needed Dean to see him as he said this, needed Dean to understand - to know how very much Castiel cared. "Not one instant. Do you understand?"

Dean was still, with everything but his eyes that raged _no no no_ and oh, Castiel wished to heed them, but he needed them to stop and he needed to say goodbye.

He stepped forward. He didn't know how Dean would react. The social customs varied so much across time and countries he didn't often trust himself to employ his vessel correctly - to give physical affection or affirmation. Mostly he was a tool of destruction. Killing was simple enough when you'd been trained to do it for so long.

But this was Dean, and he wanted to tell him something he couldn't say - wasn't accustomed to saying. So he trained all his concentration on his hands, setting them as carefully as he could against Dean's face, one thumb pushing away a tear, the other resting just under the curve of Dean's jaw. And it felt so...natural to seek closeness, to let his lips push against Dean's, to bury his face in his friend's as if that might protect them both from this broken reality.

And Dean let him. And Dean reached back for him and he felt his own sleeves pulling at the elbows by shaking hands. Castiel wished he could leave him some tiny measure of his grace, something to remember him, something to protect him and stay with him and Dean had Sam, of course, but Cas was selfish...he wanted Dean to carry _him_ in that sacred way.

His own closed eyes stung and pulling back just a little, his breath shuddered out of him. He didn't want to leave...not Dean, not now, not ever. Dean's own breath pushed against his and he looked up into his friend's searching gaze.

For everything. For Sam. For _you_.

He stepped back, nodded, and turned away.

He felt Dean's eyes keenly on him, so he kept his head up, shoulders set, walked evenly through the torrent of grass and waited. Waited for the ever-faithful gaze of the self-proclaimed faithless man- the gaze that never gave up, never stopped looking, never stopped trying to save him - waited for that gaze to falter.

It did.

Castiel flew.


	4. Rest

Chapter Title: Rest

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: Dean let out a hollow bark of a laugh, "You haven't seen yourself yet, but believe me, it ain't pretty. Hospital." Sam POV. Takes place directly after Sacrifice/The Way/Tenderness

* * *

Cas was gone, and it was then that Sam let himself fall. He was tired, and aching and his head pounded from the wind and exhaustion. He drooped into the overgrown grass, and Dean crumpled after him.

"Sammy?" he heard Dean, but his eyes were closed already.

The ground shook more violently than ever but this was so much easier than standing. The pain of the trials - the constant uneasiness that hummed just under his skin, draining him for months - it was dull in the wake of everything. He'd done it...now it was just up to Cas.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. The wind wasn't so strong when it was only brushing the top of him.

He felt Dean shake his head against Sam's shoulder.

"We need to get out of here, Sam. Cas said..." Dean's voice caught, and Sam forced his eyes open.

His brother was looking around, lost, "...he said it would blast, we need to -"

But then the pressure of the air, or maybe it was something in the wind, _something_ changed, and Dean threw himself over Sam, right as the the world was torn in two.

An undefinable pressure that had little to do with the wind tore across the field, as if a great blade was separating the heavens and earth and Sam realized that Castiel must have done it. The pressure of the air climbed until he thought his eardrums would burst, and a great light spread and spread until he couldn't keep his eyes open because it burned too white and hot. The humming under his skin rose and rose and perhaps he was imagining it but he thought he could feel little capillaries burst around his eyes and in his fingers and toes and lips and then suddenly - alarmingly - all was still. The light subsided, the wind ceased and left only erie calm.

Dean's breathing registered against his shoulder and the rapid expanding and collapsing of his brother's chest pushed comfortingly against him. No hum, no thrumming magic coursing through him, just...just Dean beside him.

And maybe Dean called out his name before Sam slipped into darkness.

…

He started awake, the rumbling beneath him throwing him back into the torrent field - until he recognized it as the steady purr of the Impala. He let his head fall back against the bench, throat dry and itchy.

Dean's breath caught beside him and the car swerved.

It stopped suddenly and Dean was leaning over him, carefully turning his face. "Sammy, talk to me - how are you feeling? We're on our way - gonna get you some help -"

Sam shook his head. "Don't need it."

Dean let out a hollow bark of a laugh, "You haven't seen yourself yet, but believe me, it ain't pretty. Hospital."

"Dean...no. Just...just take me home, okay?"

"Sammy we're going - we need to start getting you looked after - I don't care if it's the trials or a damn papercut - you're overdue."

Sam shook his head again, "Dean, it's gone. I can feel it...it's over. Just... tired. Just need to rest."

Dean didn't respond.

"Dean, I promise...felt it before...it's gone now. Please, just drive."

Another pause.

"If you're lying I will kick your ass, little brother," Dean moved back into the driver's seat and they were moving again. "Still a bit to go - You okay for a few hours?"

"Yeah...just...Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"'m sorry..."

"For?"

Sam tried to say _Cas_, but he couldn't make his mouth work. Couldn't say it. Couldn't admit it...Couldn't be the first one to make it real...not yet...so he closed his eyes. Dean wouldn't push if he thought Sam was sleeping. Or maybe Dean would figure it out.

Either way it was going dark again.

…

Sam woke up a few more times over the next few hours, though it didn't feel like any time passed in between. As if he closed his eyes and opened them again the next second. But the sky was just a bit darker every time...he didn't say anything, just looked blearily over at his brother or out the window.

The mile markers were blurry as they passed.

Sometimes the road was smooth and he dozed.

Sometimes the asphalt was cracked and badly patched up - he didn't see it so much as feel it as his insides jostled angry.

He blinked again and found it nearly dark, the radio hummed quietly, and he pulled his arms up, lifting his shoulders and pushing the palms into the seat to straighten a little. Everything protested - muscles and bones and skin but it was all his body...just his body.

"Just a bit longer," Dean said, glancing over quickly, "How're you feeling?"

Sam blinked hard and exhaled through his nose, shaking his head a little. His skin felt oddly tender. He reached up and touched his face, immediately pulling back his hand and hissing slightly at the sharp pain.

"I told you man, you look bad - one big black eye," Dean sounded strained. "You're sure it's over?"

Sam nodded, "...yeah."

Sam wondered if he'd ever hear Dean _not_ worried about him.

He turned his head gingerly, blinking again and waiting for his eyes to adjust onto his brother's face.

Dean was...if it hadn't have been for the occasional blink, the slight movements of the steering wheel...he looked _not alive_. His eyes were dull and unseeing, the way he held the steering wheel - not like Dean at all - like it wasn't the car he'd driven his whole life, like he was just a robot programmed to know the Impala's subtleties but there was no relationship there...Sam couldn't quantify it but it was wrong.

Sam didn't say anything. Occasionally Dean looked over, a spark of strain and concern lighting for just a moment before it fell again, leaving this lifeless, Dean-shaped thing beside him.

Sam wondered distantly if he'd been swapped out for some monster, but the brief moments of life comforted him slightly. Dean's unrelenting concern for him was something he knew too well to not recognize the counterfeit.

He sighed, fighting the urge to rub his hand over his face because he knew it would hurt like hell.

Some light at the end of the tunnel, huh?

Too bad the light had been Castiel's exploding grace.

The hurt hit him in a way unrelated to muscle and bone and nerves...just emptiness. Suddenly his brother's state made a lot more sense. Dean had been sitting here alone for hours with only a limp brother and memories of his best friend's death for company.

A thought occurred to him, hypocritical and radical because all _he_ wanted was a good beer or five, but it put its foot down firmly in Sam's mind. _I've got to get all the alcohol out. All of it. Tonight._

Or Dean would lose himself in it. Sam would lose Dean, and it didn't matter who else loved Dean, or how they told him or what they did, Dean wouldn't stop once he got the first drop. He'd drink himself to sleep every night and..._no_.

Not again. Not this time.

He'd have to be fast. It would be the first thing Dean went for.

An anger sparked in his chest. Stupid son of a bitch. Castiel saved them all at the first thing Dean would do - how he'd celebrate the world _not_ ending again - would be to drown himself.

Dammit.

Sam tried to stay relaxed. Tried not to clue Dean into the itch in his fingers. There was nothing he could do until they got back to the bunker. So Sam breathed deeply, and exhaled, marvelling again at how sore and tired and _himself_ he felt.


	5. Echoes

Chapter Title: Echoes

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: It was all so much easier when Sam was ten. Now Dean had to play the trusting game - letting Sam decide when to eat and sleep and drink and when he needed medical attention. Dean shook his head again and turned away. Dean POV companion piece/overlaps "Rest"

* * *

Dean was grateful for the distraction, honestly - His brother's massive weight, not conscious enough to really walk but not enough of a dead weight that Dean couldn't support him over the rough terrain back to the Impala - was enough that he couldn't _think_ about anything but getting to a hospital, and couldn't feel _anything_ but the warm, stumbling body beside him and the steady, if labored breathing.

They staggered, fell, stopped, and rested time and time again over the miles they'd walked earlier, and each time, when he thought he could go again, he pulled Sam up and carried him a bit farther.

He didn't know how long it took to get back to the car, only that as much of a relief it was to his body to set Sam down limply in the front seat...for the first time in the last few hours he felt really alone again.

He got in the driver's side and gave his little brother a once-over.

Sam was covered in bruising, and Dean blinked rapidly to push the stinging of his eyes away. Guilt clawed at him and he jabbed the keys into the Impala. _This one was supposed to be on me._

But when had this life, this _world_ ever been fair?

He got back to main roads and was headed for Lawrence Memorial Hospital when Sammy started beside him.

He swerved in surprise, then pulled off the road, braking harshly. He turned on his seat, knee pushing into the leather and leaned over his brother. "Sammy, talk to me - how are you feeling?" Sam's purple throat worked over trapped sounds and Dean couldn't touch him - the kid was covered in bruising and it would hurt, "We're on our way - gonna get you some help-"

But Sam tossed his head over the back of the bench, back and forth. "Don't need it," he croaked.

Dean cursed himself - Sam had learned the 'I'm fine' routine from him, after all. "You haven't seen yourself yet, but believe me, it ain't pretty. Hospital," he replied decisively.

"Dean...no. Just...just take me home, 'kay?"

His insides twisted in a spiral and he didn't know whether to look at Sam for strength or to look away so he didn't have to see him so damn broken. "Sammy, we're going - we need to start getting you looked after - I don't care if it's the trials or a damn papercut - you're overdue."

But Sam shook his head again, "Dean, it's gone. I can feel it..." his voice seemed to come from far away "...it's over. Just...tired. Just need to rest."

Dean hung his head, it was too heavy and the silence screamed inside. He pulled his lip between his teeth and blew out a long surrendering breath.

"If you're lying i will kick your ass, little brother." He slid back into place behind the wheel and pulled back onto the road, "Still a bit to go - you ok for a few hours?"

"Yeah," Sam sounded relieved and Dean prayed that Sam meant it this time, "...just...Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"'m sorry..."

Dean glanced over at Sam, lids half down and slumped like a great rug over the seat. "For?"

But Sam didn't respond.

Dean turned back to the road. His eyebrows pulled together and he concentrated hard on the strip of worn asphalt between the double yellow and white lines.

He didn't really see it, after a while. He tried to train his ears on the steady, slightly rasping breaths next to him, tried not to wander from them.

Sam had lived.

Sam was _alive._

_Alive alive alive._

But it wasn't enough. Not now, not this time. Not when -

He cut his own thought off abruptly.

_Keep Sammy alive._

_Take Sammy home._

_Sammy._

He put the mantra on loop in his head. After an hour or so his body had calmed and the broken record of his thoughts had dulled to a low buzz. He felt...nothing.

Sam stirred a few times, but didn't move much and didn't say anything.

Dean would look over, wince a little at his brother's wounds, then turn back to the road.

It wasn't until about a half hour outside Lebanon that Sam really moved. He hoisted himself up and Dean watched out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the stifled groan.

"Just a bit longer. How're you feeling?"

He looked over in time to see Sam tenderly reach up and touch his own face, then recoil quickly at the unexpected pain.

"I told you man, you look bad," Dean assured him, trying to keep his voice calm and free of anxiety, "One big black eye. You're sure it's over?"

"...yeah."

Dean nodded and turned back to the road. He pulled up the low buzz of the mantra again. Sam didn't seem in the talking mood, and if all he needed was rest, Dean wasn't going to stand in his way.

…

Sam didn't say anything and Dean didn't know how to break the silence until they'd closed the door of the bunker behind them. Sam managed to walk in on his own - slowly, careful of his bruised body, but steadily nevertheless. Dean hovered a hand behind him just in case.

Sam breathed deeply and looked around. Dean walked past and headed to the kitchen.

"Why don't you go take a shower and I'll fix us something?"

Dean's body screamed at every movement to just lay down and rest, his calves stiff from the car ride.

"You go ahead first," Sam said, looking around. He walked into the kitchen. Dean turned around, momentarily shocked by the purple and green marbled effect coming in and out of focus over Sam's exposed skin. Sam pulled out a glass and filled it with water. "I'm not hungry yet - just thirsty. I need to sit just a bit longer...besides," he managed a humorless smile, "you're filthy. I'm almost comatose and I could still smell you in the car."

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, glad for the banter.

"Okay," he ceded again. "You...you rest, though." He tried to sound cool, to trust that Sam was telling the truth, " And I'll make something, after. Work up an appetite - if it's really gone maybe we can finally get you a normal BMI rating again and I can stop reading research on malnutrition."

Sam gave that half-amused nod, "Yeah, sure."

Dean stood for a moment longer, lips pushing together as he fought the urge to baby his brother. He sighed. Sam held himself carefully, tenderly, but in a forced sort of way - he was trying to be strong for Dean...so nothing new.

It was all so much easier when Sam was ten. Now Dean had to play the trusting game - letting Sam decide when to eat and sleep and drink and when he needed medical attention. Dean shook his head again and turned away.

"You better clean your damn plate," he growled as he left.

The hallway echoed oddly as Dean walked through. The walls seemed to expand and the cozy - if not unconventional - home they'd discovered and _nested_ was suddenly empty and stiff. He pushed at his legs, willing them to move more quickly through the sterile passageways, until he arrived at the Men of Letters' shower room.

He stripped off, turned a knob at his preferred stall and stepped back, waiting for the water to warm. At one of the sinks he retrieved his toothbrush, and brought it back to the shower with him, slowly working the bristles around his mouth - spitting out all the grime and dirt of the storm.

He'd been dreading this moment. No Sam, no task directly in front of him. He brushed slowly for a while, standing under the hot spray numbly, until he slowed to a stop, spit, and set his toothbrush aside.

The water was just a hair too hot, and Dean stumbled back into the still-cold tile. He inhaled sharply, and bit his lip. The sensation was oddly relaxing. Just physical. Nothing tops of his shoulders and chest protested as the water kept pounding down, but Dean shut his eyes and just listened.

He bowed forward, balanced between his bright red feet simmering in the runoff on the ground and his lower back on the shower wall. Droplets burned as they hit the back of his head and slid down into his face, smothering his closed eyes, winding around the curve of his nostrils and tingling against his lips. He breathed, and drops of moisture curved into his mouth.

Images of Cas, sad eyes, moving closer, flitted through his mind and he tried to push them out, screwed up his eyes tighter as if his brain would catch on and stop replaying this - Dean didn't want to see it. Not now. Not so soon, he couldn't...

But Cas was close and Dean didn't see anymore, just felt. The echoes of tender hands burned where the water fell, and chapped lips pressed against his and he coughed, pulling upright, shaking his head. _No_.

He bit his lip hard as he grabbed the soap, working it carelessly over himself and rinsing off quickly, trying to stay distracted, trying to keep out the images and whispered touches that were pushing at the door of his mind, queueing to enter and occupy his thoughts.

He slammed the water off and grabbed a towel and robe.

He needed a drink.

He detoured to his room only to throw on some clothes, before stalking to the kitchen.

He was debating whether to start with beer and work up to the good stuff, or if he ought to just dive in headfirst, when he turned the corner into the kitchen and saw Sam, back to the doorway, leaning on the sink heavily. A few bottles on the counter to his left and many more to his right.

There was a moment when Dean was slightly impressed and more worried about how much Sam had managed to drink while he was in the shower, until he heard the bubbling, hollow slosh of liquid tunnelling down the drain and his stomach dropped.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam stiffened, but didn't turn, just set the bottle in his hand aside to the right and reached for another on his left side.

Dean heard the whizzing pop of the lid coming off, and the wet splatter as Sam poured another bottle down the drain.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean strode towards him and Sam hastily grabbed the last two bottles and slammed them on the inside rim of the sink, shattering them and sending the contents and shards of glass down the drain.

Dean stared at the glistening remains.

Sam turned to him, expression set, breathing heavily. His jaw jutted out and Dean nearly recoiled.

"Sammy, what're you doing?"

Sam huffed, "I put it all down the drain."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean said, "Why?"

"Because I'm not going to watch you do this again."

"Do what?"

"Drink yourself stupid everyday because you can't face what happened with Cas."

"Shut up," Dean couldn't help it as the words spilled out and he turned away, "You don't know what the hell -"

"I was there, Dean. I saw, okay. He's gone. You lost him and I'll never understand just how much it hurt and how much it's going to keep hurting, but guess what, Dean?" he pulled at Dean's shoulder and turned him back.

Dean wanted to punch him. Wanted to swing at his bruised face to make him stop talking and scream that _you have no idea,_, but he let himself be pulled instead, looking away, as if that might stop his brother from stepping in something too big for his own good.

Sam stared him in the eye and shook his head. "I lost him too," his voice was less abrasive but it struck Dean raw. "He's my friend too and he did it because there wasn't another choice, just like I did. I'm sorry, Dean. He didn't _want_ to leave. He wasn't trying to hurt you - he _loves_ you, Dean. Don't - don't _do_ this."

Dean still looked resolutely away, pushing Sam's words from his mind without allowing them to register.

But Sammy had never known when to stop.

"If you want me to get better so bad you can't drown yourself. You can't start drinking over breakfast and you can't leave me alone to deal on my own. If you expect me to get better then you have to take care of yourself."

Retorts and insults stormed his mind and flooded his throat but he couldn't let them out. They were stuck behind his teeth because he knew they were wrong and dammit Sam knew how to get him, but he couldn't understand that Dean's insides had been hollowed out and echoed with only the last and lonely sensations of the day and Dean couldn't think or feel or talk or _deal,_ with any of that right now and _god, Sammy just let me go. Just let me go and disappear. Stop trying to save me. Why did they keep saving him?_

He looked back up and thought Sam had an awful lot of gusto - he - well, his body - looked like Dean felt - bruised and tired - except the burning resolve in his eyes and Dean didn't have any of that, just the great big emptiness and...

Sam's chin trembled and before Dean could protest he'd been forcibly pulled into his brother. Sam consequently let out a pained noise that he half-swallowed but didn't let Dean go.

"You need to stick around and be here for me, okay?"

Dean's arms hung limply and he couldn't make them go up...Sam didn't let go, just pressed Dean against him and it must've hurt like hell.

"Just stay, ok?" Sam mumbled, "For me."

Dean let out a huff of breath. To shelled to feel resentment that Sammy had so blatantly and gracelessly pulled that card, he sighed, and gave a fraction of a nod against Sam's neck.


	6. Shock

Chapter Title: Shock

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: The number was unfamiliar, but that was nothing different. Sam definitely didn't expect to hear the voice of the recently dead angel on the other end.

* * *

It was an unfamiliar number, but that was nothing new or unusual for Sam, and so he barely thought as he answered, his eyes still focused on the parchment in front of him. Since the closing of the gates, they'd both needed to recover, and so Sam had been spending a lot of time in the library, relishing feeling well enough to actually read.

"Hello?" There was silence on the other end, save for a shaky breath, and Sam sat up a little straighter, listening.

"Hello, are you alright?" Sam asked, wondering if this was a case, and then wondering who actually had this number.

"Sam?" A familiar voice spoke then, and Sam had to sit back, the shock rushing through him.

"Cas? Oh my god, is that you?" Sam asked, suddenly aware he was alone in the library. Where was Dean, he had to tell him. If Cas had survived, then...

"It's me." Cas said, sounding gruff and so very himself, that Sam felt emotion clog his throat for a moment. Just pure thankfulness to whoever the hell was out there that gave a damn. "Is Dean with you?"

Sam had to sniff, get a hold of himself before he could answer.

"Uh, no, he's not, he's in another room. I'll go get him-"

"No, don't!" Cas said, and then broke off with a slight gasp, his breathing audible and quick. Sam furrowed his brow, glancing at the half open door.

"But, Cas, you're alive, after everything. Holy cow, man, Dean is going to be ecstatic!"

Cas made a little sound, halfway between a gasp of pain and a laugh. Sam's heart beat, already jumping with joy that Cas was alive, quickened further.

"Cas? What happened back there, how did you get out?" Sam, feeling nervous now, got up to shut the door to the back rooms, so Dean couldn't overhear.  
"Where are you?"

"At a hospital in Lawrence. And I don't know how I survived." The again went unspoken.

"Are you okay?"

Castiel let out a breath, and Sam couldn't recall ever noticing him breath so much.

"I'm alive. The doctors are letting me leave soon." There was a long pause.

"And?"

"I'm human. The sacrifice was my grace."

Sam sat back in the chair, his insides gone shaky. Cas had fallen. Fallen, capitol F.

"My god."

Cas let out a huff of bitter laughter. "I doubt it was my father that brought me back as much as my terrible luck."

Sam took a breath, and shook his head. "Don't talk like that. You're back, and everything's going to be okay, alright. I'm mean, seriously, Dean is going to be thrilled."

Cas was silent on the other end, disbelieving. Sam then registered that Lawrence Memorial Hospital was only about three hours away.

"Here, I'll come get you. We're close to there, and then we can figure it out."

"No, Sam." Cas said, nearly cutting him off.

"What? Why not? Dean-"

"I can't face Dean yet. Don't tell him, please." Cas voice was quiet, ashamed sounding and pleading.

"Cas-"

He interrupted him. "I was just calling to let you know. I'm not asking for charity."

"Cas, you can't just not tell him. He'll be furious!" Sam replied, sitting forward in his seat.

"I know. I'm going to tell him, just..."

There was a small silence.

"Is it because you kissed him?"

Cas still didn't reply, but Sam now felt like he'd be getting a venomous glare had they been in the same room.

"Don't assign human meanings to things you don't understand, Sam."

Sam raised his hand in defense, even though Cas couldn't see him.

"Okay, okay. I'm just saying, you have to tell Dean. Soon. I don't know how long I can keep this from him. Cas, he's been so broken up over you. He's grieving, man, and I don't know what to do for him." His throat thickened, and he felt anew his helplessness since it Cas' grace had lit up the sky, and Dean shattered. Now, Cas was back, and the angel could fix his brother...but wanted to stay away? "Now that you're alive, you can help him. Come on, we can figure this out, man. I'll come get you."

There was a long pause, and then a heavy sigh that sounded far too human to be coming from Cas.

"Not yet. Please, just a little time?" And Sam closed his eyes, thinking of those days of Dean being in pain still. "You sound better." Cas then continued, obviously changing the subject. Sam breathed out, and remembered anew the rattle that had invaded his chest. Gone now.

"Yeah, the symptoms cleared up soon after you... I'm almost as good as new."

"I'm glad." Cas said, and he sounded it. Sam bit his lip, glancing at the closed door.

"Cas," Sam started. "I can't keep this from him, I can't lie to him again. He's hurting, Cas. And the longer you wait, the worse it will be for both of us. He'll be angry, believe me."

The other end was quiet for long enough that Sam had to check the front of the phone to make sure he hadn't hung up. Finally shallow breathing sounded through the receiver and Sam realized with a rush that this wasn't Cas being belligerent, this was Cas scared, terrified. Newly human, alone and struck down with the fear of being rejected from the one person he cared about most.

"I know..." Cas finally whispered. "I just..."

Sam wished he was there, that he could see his face (though he'd never been able to read Castiel as well as Dean had). Maybe he could comfort him, tell him that no matter how mad Dean was, he'd never reject him, he'd never send him away. Dean would take Cas back no matter what. But he didn't have the words. Cas was too far away, and unknowable through the phone.

"Okay," Sam just said. "We'll figure it out, alright?" Sam ran a hand over his face. "When do you get out of the hospital?"

"Tomorrow, or the day after."

Okay. I'll send some money. You can get a room in town, and ...wait."  
Sam didn't mention that the only thing that they were waiting for was Cas to say yes.

"Thank you, Sam." Cas breathed, "And I'm sorry." Sam felt a rush of fondness.

"It's okay. I'm glad you're okay, man. I really am."

"You as well, Sam."


	7. Help

Chapter Title: Help

Author: archi, Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Any newbie to the Supernatural following could have told you that keeping things from Dean Winchester was a recipe for some serious fail. But she'd sworn on her entire Harry Potter Limited Edition Wizard's Collection box set not to spill the beans. She met Sam outside Lebanon, and felt totally badass as he handed over a sizeable wad of cash, a singularly unhelpful approximation of Castiel's clothing size, and directions to the mysterious patient. Charlie POV, after "Shock."

* * *

Charlie didn't know what to expect when she threw a hastily loaded bag into the trunk of her Rabbit, called out of work for a family emergency, and set off for middle-of-nowhere Kansas. Sam hadn't been overly descriptive on the phone, all she knew was that Castiel had reappeared back in the ring long enough to volunteer for a suicide mission, managed to survive and was now recovering in some motel.

Oh, and nobody had told Dean yet.

Holy Frak, the Winchesters were hopeless at meta. Any newbie to the Supernatural following could have told you that keeping things from Dean Winchester was a recipe for some serious fail.

But she'd sworn on her entire Harry Potter Limited Edition Wizard's Collection box set not to spill the beans. She met Sam outside Lebanon, and felt totally badass as he handed over a sizeable wad of cash, a singularly unhelpful approximation of Castiel's clothing size, and directions to the mysterious patient.

Three plus hours of freeway and an excellent movie score playlist later, she pulled off I-70 and followed the road until she hit a section of Iowa St lined with department stores. She saw a Wal-Mart sign up ahead but veered into the Super Target parking lot to her right.

Her bag pulled on her shoulder as she headed for the men's department. Rifling through her mental files, she pulled up Sam's vague description of the mysterious fallen angel she was supposed to be clothing. The books had detailed his outfit, but they were about as helpful as Sam in describing his stature.

_I dunno. Shorter than I am. Normal size, I guess. He's always wearing his overcoat and its not like I'm checking him out. Dean's height, or maybe a bit shorter...?_

Charlie had stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

_Look, it doesn't have to be perfect, just something that isn't hospital scrubs._

Charlie had shaken her head, and reassured him it was no big. From the book descriptions, it seemed like Castiel had only ever worn his vessel's clothing. Bummer about the loss of angel dry-cleaning. But she figured that if he'd just been released from the hospital - and she really had no clue what sort of shape that meant, he needed something comfortable.

Sweats. Definitely. The Winchesters may only own Levi's and button ups but the rest of humanity liked to be comfortable. She stood in front of a rack of sweatpants, arguing internally on what size to get. If only she had been more involved in the costume-_making_ aspect of role playing she might be better at this.

While she thumbed through the size Medium gray pants, there was a soft excuse me behind her, and she squeaked something inarticulate and scooted forward, hangers swivelling as she pushed into the clothing.

She glanced up to find a man making his way between the racks. She was about to dismiss him until she realized that hey, _male_. One who looked average (as far as she knew), and was clothes shopping.

_Score._

She watched him as he moved between the low shelves and racks, trying to see what sizes he was considering.

He glanced over, and she looked away quickly. But once he was back to his task, slid over to a rack where she could observe his movements even if he wandered.

Unfortunately, she was not as smooth as she thought. The third time she caught his eye, she smiled awkwardly, and before training her eyes back on the soft t-shirts in front of her, caught him winking.

Oh. Ew. As if. But she could turn this to her advantage. She smiled back, and then turned to him, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I know this is like, totally random, but could you help me with something?"

The guy nodded and maneuvered over to her, "Yeah, sure, what do you need?"

"My brother just landed at the KCI, and all his luggage got left behind in...Canada, So I'm picking him up some to hold him over until it gets here," she lied. "And anyway I don't know what size he is and my phone is totally dead - but I think he's built pretty similarly to you, soooo...would you mind helping me out?"

The guy's face said that that had not been what he was expecting, but he smiled graciously and told her what size jeans, t-shirt, and jacket he was, as well as sending his best wishes for her brother's stay.

Luckily he left after that because Charlie didn't know how to flirt with guys convincingly without Dean Winchester in her ear.

She thumbed through the racks, got two pair of gray sweatpants, a few soft feeling t-shirts in plain grays and blues, a hoodie, socks and boxer shorts (using every amount of self-control she had not to buy the Avengers pack). She was about to head to the grocery section when she spotted the clearance racks, and several pairs of simple, dark wash bootcut jeans. She sorted through the unfamiliar sizing system until she found measurements that matched the closest to the ones from the stranger and put them in her cart.

Maybe he wouldn't need them right away, but Castiel would need some clothes. Especially if he wanted to leave the motel without looking like...well she didn't know what he looked like in anything. Hadn't ever actually seen him, and accurate descriptions weren't exactly Carver Edlund's strong point. For all she knew Castiel was the kind of guy who could rock the vlogger I-wear-cool-shirts-but-I-don't-ever-wear-actual-pa nts look...

He'd helped save the world. Twice now, apparently. She may as well give the guy some options.

On the way to get basic kitchen fixings she got a pair of men's slip-on shoes. Having no idea what size shoe he might be, she grabbed a pair of 10s. She could exchange them later if needed.

The food was easier. Food was food. Some sandwich supplies, fruit juice for vitamins, a few sweeter things and snack foods and she was off to checkout. She had Sam's wad of cash in her bag, but slid her card instead.

Hey, he _saved the world_. This was no time to be stingy.

The directions from Sam took her to a skeevy little Super 8. The address of the motel room scribbled on a piece of paper led her to a worn door with a crooked 14. She steeled herself and knocked.

No one answered.

She felt like a complete noob as she stood there, wrinkling her nose at the discoloration on the walls. She knocked again. "Um, hello? Castiel?"

The response was muffled through the door, but she heard it just fine - a low, gruff, "How do you know that name?"

She relaxed, re-adjusting her bags. So Sam hadn't warned Castiel that a strange girl was coming - no big. At least Castiel hadn't run off. "Oh, good, you are here. I was worried I got the wrong room. Or Sam did, or that maybe a monster or something had gotten you, like if you got attacked," she shook her head, "Not that I think you would, 'cause you were pretty badass in the books-"

"Who are you?"

She sighed, relieved that he'd stopped her from standing in the hallway too much longer just rambling at a door.

"Right. I'm Charlie. Sam sent me with some clothes and money, and you know, a ride if you want one...?"

She bit her lip, glanced around again and leaned into the door, listening for movement, when the door opened just a crack. She started up, "Hi." She smiled, trying to look trustworthy and relaxed but pretty sure she had that really stiff freaked out smile on. Oh well. She wasn't really out to impress today. Ok that was a lie. She was really worried about impressing Castiel.

A blue eye squinted at her, "How do I know you are who you say?"

Wow, paranoid much? But then I guess kamikaze missions did that to a guy. She blinked a few times, "Well, I'm not a demon or a monster or anything. I'm friends with Sam and Dean. They saved my life a couple times," she squinted, "but they kinda do that...I help them out now," she said, feeling a swell of pride.

She really couldn't tell anyone else about the kind of hacking magic she did for the Winchesters, but she couldn't deny that some of the things she'd done were definitely challenging and kept her authority issues well satisfied. " I'm kinda a genius with the tech, so I do research, and hack a lot..." She shook her head slightly again, pulling herself back on mission. "I was in the area, and Sam wanted me to help you out until we tell Dean."

Finally the door opened. Relief flooded her and she felt a smile spread over her face. The man didn't look particularly thrilled to see her, but he did step back to allow her inside. He had a something clutched in his hand, ready to strike, and for a moment she felt vaguely offended. She was on the good side!

"Dude, were you going to attack me with a clicker?"

The expression on the man's face was unreadable as he backed away and slumped onto the end of the bed, discarding the clicker. She passed him, putting the bags on the small table by the tv. Now that he had set down his weapon her she felt considerably brighter, and allowed herself an appraising moment.

He was, she supposed, of average build. But his face was nothing like the illustrations on the books. His whole aura was much more...she was going to go with _human_ but that was why she was here in the first place. She hadn't expected the wide cheekbones, drooping eyes and sharp nose. His lips were a veritable work of art and although the physical description hadn't gone into detail, he was still - in a totally morose kind of way - dreamy.

Huh.

"So, I have to say. You're different than I expected. One thing, no trench. Sad I missed that, it was so...Constantine. You should have seen the cover art. They don't do you justice at all."

He didn't respond so she turned to her bags, pulling out the food and clothing.

"I hope these fit," she stated, pulling a pair of boxer shorts, socks, sweatpants, t-shirt and hoodie together into a stack and handing them to him, "Sam didn't really know your size, and 'shorter than me' doesn't really help much, you know?" she worried her lip as he took the bundle and odd thoughts flew around, knocking into the sides of her head, _what if he doesn't like blue, or gray or what if it's uncomfortable or has itchy tags or..._

Castiel looked down at the bundle in his hands...still looking a bit lost.

"Why don't you get changed, and I'll get us some lunch?" Charlie asked, trying to sound confident, comforting. Nurturing wasn't really her thing but she'd give it a go. When he didn't move, she gestured towards the door "Bathroom's over there, unless you were planning on stripping down out here," she tittered nervously. For all she knew he would drop his scrubs where he stood and although she didn't blame the guy it would be weird and this whole thing was weird - even for a Winchester affair.

He made some sort of offended noise and said gruffly, "I'll keep that in mind."

She watched as he walked stiffly to the bathroom, and once the door was closed, she sighed. This surly, silent and non-communicative ex-angel was not going to be easy, but if the boys loved him - if his relationship was so important to them - so important to Castiel that...well, they'd worry about Dean later. Right now she was here. And she was going to make some sandwiches.


	8. Color

Chapter Title: Color

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: "Who are you?" Castiel interrupted her ramblings, not sure if there was an actual answer in there, but he'd heard Sam's name and that made his ears prick.

"Right. I'm Charlie," Charlie said, her tone almost a question. "Sam sent me with some clothes and money, and you know, a ride if you want one."

Relief warred with his wariness, and he cracked the door open, holding the remote (a pathetic weapon, but the only thing in reach in the scanty motel room) at the ready. Charlie was a small, young, red haired woman, dressed in bright colors and smiling at him tentatively. She held two plastic bags, and had another canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi," She said.

Cas POV

* * *

Two days after he spoke with Sam on the phone, Castiel sat hunched on a motel bed in Lawrence, Kansas, clutching his wounded torso and the discharge papers from the hospital in subsequent hands. He was out of the hospital now, to his great relief and vague discomfort. Now he didn't know what to do.

Sam was hours away, Dean didn't know he was alive (by his own doing) and there were many needs that distantly pressed on his newly human consciousness. He was in a lot of pain, he was aware of a need to eat, and sleep and he felt itchy all over. He still had to procure the medicines listed on the prescription papers, and acquire food, and, he supposed, start living a human life. But he sat there, unmoving, unsure, feeling like he was on the edge of a precipice, balancing on a wire, in the last minutes before a nose dive from the stratosphere towards the crust of the earth. If he moved he'd shatter, he'd fall again and hit the earth with a great crash, like he had a few days ago.

Castiel remembered. He remembered leaving Sam and Dean standing exposed under the raging might of Heaven. He remembered walking, then flying, knowing he was going to his death. He remembered the heat and the light and then the fall.

Falling.

And an impact that whited out his vision.

Then he woke in a hospital, the last of his grace having burnt out on the way down, just enough to keep himself in a vessel, and keep him from being flattened by the impact.

Castiel was distantly aware of his breathing speeding up. Cold sweat dribbled under his scrubs (borrowed from the hospital, as everything except his dress shoes were pretty much burned scraps).

What was he supposed to do?

Castiel sat there, and couldn't make himself move, not even to get a drink of water for his suddenly bone dry throat, when two quick raps sounded at the door.

Castiel felt the shock rush over him, breaking him out of his paralysis and making him scramble painfully to his feet He was painfully aware he had no weapons, no grace to assure defeat over most creatures. His hair felt like it was standing on end. Was this what  
humans always felt like?

There was a person, or a creature knocking at his motel room door. No one but Sam knew he was here. He stood, frozen, as another knock came and a low voice accompanied it.

"Um, hello? Castiel?" The sound, a young woman's voice, unstuck his limbs, and he shot to the side of the door, grabbing the TV remote on the way, and pressing himself against the wall.

She had sounded unsure, but Castiel knew multitudes of creatures, and many knew the trick of acting innocent to lure in their prey.

"How do you know that name?" Castiel demanded. The girl or woman or creature huffed a breath.

"Oh good, you are here. I was worried I got the wrong room. Or Sam did, or that maybe a monster or something had gotten you, like if you got attacked.  
Not that I think you would, cause you were pretty badass in the books-"

"Who are you?" Castiel interrupted her ramblings, not sure if there was an actual answer in there, but he'd heard Sam's name and that made his ears prick.

"Right. I'm Charlie," Charlie said, her tone almost a question. "Sam sent me with some clothes and money, and you know, a ride if you want one."

Relief warred with his wariness, and he cracked the door open, holding the remote (a pathetic weapon, but the only thing in reach in the scanty motel room) at the ready. Charlie was a small, young, red haired woman, dressed in bright colors and smiling at him tentatively. She held two plastic bags, and had another canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi," She said.

Cas didn't open the door wider, didn't back up to let her in, but he frowned at her in thought.

"How do I know you are who you say?" Castiel couldn't be too careful. He had no way yet of knowing how well his senses were attuned to other creatures in this state. She looked human, and felt human, but until he met a demon he didn't know if he could tell the difference. His challenge caused her to blink in realization.

"Well, not a demon or a monster or anything. I'm friends with Sam and Dean. They saved my life a couple times, but they kinda do that."

Castiel could not deny it.

"I help them out now. I'm kind of a genius with the tech, so I do research, and hack a lot. I was in the area, and Sam wanted me to help you out until we tell Dean."

At that, Castiel stepped back. The door swung open wider, and her smile matched, as she stepped inside. He believed her, no one who hadn't talked to Sam would know that much, and truly she was charming in spite of his resistance. But at the reminder of Dean, at what he was doing, and all he was keeping from him, the fight went out of him.

Charlie carried the bags further inside, and then faced him with an eyebrow raised.

"Dude, were you going to attack me with a clicker? Not cool."

Castiel looked down at the remote in his hand, and then backed up to sit on the bed, leaving the remote on the covers beside him.

Charlie bustled around, the bags rustling noisily until she set them on the table by the television.

"So, I have to say. You're different than I expected. One thing, no trench. Sad I missed that. It was so...Constantine. You should have seen the cover art. They don't do you justice at all."

Castiel watched her as she both talked, and removed items from her bags. Bread, lunch meat, cheese slices and a bag of lettuce from one, and then a stack of clothes from the other.

"I hope these fit. Sam didn't really know your size, and 'shorter than me' doesn't really help much, you know?" She handed him a pile of what Castiel realized was sweats, a tee shirt and a jacket. "Why don't you get changed, and I'll get us some lunch?"

Cas was willing, the scrubs he'd been given in lieu of the bloodstained scraps of his clothing were uncomfortable: very obviously not proper clothing, and the fabric was thin and made him chilled. All he had left was his tattered trench coat (he'd not let them throw it away) and his shoes. The loss of his suit gave him a small pang which he supposed was human nostalgia.

"Very well."

Charlie blinked at him for a moment, and then gestured towards the other door in the room.

"Bathroom's over there, unless you were planning on stripping down out here." she said, sounding vaguely nervous. Castiel huffed. He was fully aware of human gender decorum, and he had no wish to offend this friend of Dean and Sam's.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He took the clothes, and mostly steadily made his way to the bathroom. His body ached, with sharp pains underneath the bandages, where he'd hit the ground as he'd literally fallen.

Castiel hadn't expected to survive the explosion of his grace. The sacrifice called for it, and he'd given willing, flying closer to let it flow from him. He'd heard Anna describe her fall as cutting her grace out with a butter knife. He now knew with a surety that description was an understatement. It had ripped out of him, and he truly didn't expect to crash back to the field, or be found unconscious by civilians, or to wake up in the hospital in pain, but alive, himself. And human, mostly.

He stumbled against the side of the counter, as a flare of pain jolted through the muscles in his back.

Human, weak, useless, a liability. He allowed himself a humorless twitch of his lips. Not a scrap of angelic left, except he could still occasionally get blasts of "angel radio" if he wasn't careful to block it off. That was accompanied by intense headaches, thus rendering any purpose that might serve feeble at best, as it put him out of commission.

Castiel, still holding onto the counter, sighed and lowered his head. He tried to squash the thoughts down. He didn't have time to wallow. He needed to deal with the chirpy bright girl out in the main room, and figure out what to do next.

Clothes seemed appropriate as a first step.

Charlie had bought him simple, soft things that didn't aggravate his injuries. He pulled the plain underclothes, the loose sweats, the soft tee shirt, and then a warm hooded jacket. He felt both comfortable and uncomfortable in them. It was looser fitting than the suit and coat he'd worn before, but it was warm where he'd been chilled before, not realizing, and Castiel hunched into the shoulders of the jacket without thought.

Out in the main room, Charlie was sitting at the table, spreading mustard on slices of bread. There were carrots, and other vibrant snack bags sitting at the table, and Charlie seemed intent on putting them all together on the paper plates. Castiel came forwards slowly, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, noticing how the clothes moved against his skin differently than both the suit and the hospital clothes. It was closer to what he'd worn in the mental hospital, but even then he'd not been able to pay attention. Physical details grabbed his notice now more than they ever did before as an angel.

"So, you hungry?" Charlie asked, putting the bread on the top of one sandwich and moving on to put the ingredients on the other. He suddenly remembered making sandwiches for Sam and Dean. He wondered how that one would have tasted compared to this one. "I just got stuff for sandwiches. It'll all keep for a while in the fridge, glad you have one," She gestured to the small metallic box in the corner. His ears registered that it had been humming the whole time he'd been here, and he's only noticed now. It was strange how both sensitive and dull his senses were as a human. "Sam didn't exactly say what your plans were...?"

She trailed off, obviously fishing for an answer. Castiel looked towards the floor. He wished that everyone would just stop asking him that. There was a long pause as Charlie waited for an answer, then seemed to give up.

"Well, anyway. I figured we can eat, and then if you needed anything-real clothes, more food, etc, I could take you tonight. I did get you a pair of jeans for when you're feeling better. I hope they fit you too, it's hard to guess."

Castiel glanced towards the discharge papers he'd left on the bed. Her eyes followed, and then she winced.

"Oh gosh, I forgot, you probably have prescriptions and stuff, don't you?" Self-recrimination flooded her face. "You just got out of the hospital, obviously. I should have that of that first! Do you want that right now? Are you in a lot of pain?"  
Any inclination to think that this woman wasn't exactly who she said had fallen away by this point, and Castiel let his face soften, trying to keep his pain from his face.

"I'm fine for now." He eyed the sandwich, and his stomach gave a little growl of interest. He put a hand over the strange sensation, and moved to sit at the table, trying not to wince.

Charlie had suspicion over her face, but she still pushed one of the plates over to him, and then took a seat across from him with her own.

"Right after this, we'll go get your meds, alright?" She said, lifting her sandwich to her mouth, and taking a bite. She continued talking through the bread and meat and Castiel was reminded fondly of Dean. "I can't believe I forgot, I mean you're practically a ball of scrapes and bruises. You look like Frodo after he got rid of the ring. At least you have all your fingers, though!"

Castiel looked down at his hands, in the midst of reaching for the sandwich on his plate. All his digits were accounted for. He dismissed it as the type of reference that Dean would make, and he'd ignore.

Charlie ate her sandwich, and Castiel nibbled at his own. It tasted good, as far as he was familiar with sandwiches, and he rather like the barbeque flavored chips. Silence brushed the table, but Castiel concentrated on the food in front of him, determined to do this first human thing right.  
Then, Charlie spoke.

"So, I'm guessing you don't want to talk about your past, but can I just say. Angel, huh? That's pretty sweet. I didn't expect your voice though, it's all gravelly. Do you do that normally, or is it just cause you're not feeling so hot?"

Castiel squinted at her, realizing this was the second time she'd mentioned knowing him from something else.

"What are you referencing? How do you know me?" Because he certainly didn't know her, and no longer could he look into her eyes, and feel her thoughts and hopes and emotions (though not truly read them as Dean seemed to think he'd been able to do) He was degraded to asking questions like a human.

"Oh, from the books, Carver Edlund." Charlie took a bite of the her own chips, something covered with orange powder, which stained her finger tips. "You were in the ones they published online. The first hard copies only went up to when Dean went to Hell, but you showed up after he got out. But of course, you remember..."

Castiel wanted to add that he'd dragged the man out of Hell, Dean didn't just get out, but his brain then rang a bell, and Castiel remembered the book series by the Prophet Chuck a long time ago. He hadn't been aware that there had been more written and been made available, much less that he was a character. He felt a dreadful curiosity, along with a sick feeling about what those books might have told about his less righteous actions.  
Charlie continued.

"Apparently, they were all true, which kinda sucks for you guys. But, you know, thanks. More juice?"

Castiel looked down at the small paper cup she'd placed beside his plate, and realized he'd drained it of it's contents without even noticing. She grabbed the jug of orange juice and refilled his drink, and he smiled his thanks. He didn't specify if it was for the juice or her gratitude.


	9. Waiting

Chapter Title: Waiting

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Charlie takes Castiel to the pharmacy. And waiting ensues.

* * *

After lunch, and putting away the other half of the sandwich Castiel couldn't manage, they piled into her small yellow car with his prescription papers clutched in his hand. Sam had called the hospital shortly after he'd gotten off the phone with him, and called him Cas Winchester, and procured all the required paperwork for him to get care. That name blinked down at him now, it being the one he blurted out, half delusional and barely awake. It was all they could get out of him before he demanded a phone, and he'd apparently been convincing enough that the young nurse didn't resistate in handing him her own cell phone. He'd been nervous about telling Sam about that, about the idea that he'd assigned himself to be a part of their family, to go so far as to steal their last name. But, once he got the medicine, he wouldn't have to mention that again.

The CVS Pharmacy was a few minutes down Iowa St from his motel, and Castiel took the time to slump back into the seat of the car, and let his eyes drift towards the ceiling. Charlie, seemingly taking it on herself to continue the conversation between them by herself, had continued to talk about various topics, requiring only a few noises of attention from Castiel to keep it going. She spoke on her life, her job, and games and activities she enjoyed. She seemed to live a full life, for which Castiel found himself glad.

She led him into the pharmacy, and towards the back where a line of four people waited to be helped by the single frazzled looking pharmacist. Cas felt a frisson of anxiousness for no reason at the long wait time. He glanced at the clock. Why would everyone decide to all get their prescriptions at one in the afternoon. Wasn't there a better time?

"Well, guess we'll be here for a while. " Charlie said, seeing him look at the time. He frowned at the line.

"Why don't they put another worker in there?" He said, letting his annoyance get the better of him.

"Guess you're not super used to this, huh?" Charlie said, gesturing to the lines. "The waiting in line thing."

Castiel shook his head, realizing how he'd been acting.

"All I used to do was wait. I was good at it. Watching the Earth...I don't know why it seems unbearable now. I apologize."

"Meh, no biggie." Charlie shrugged. "You're hurting, and honestly, a lot's happened to you. If you need someone to bitch at, I'm here."

Castiel looked down at her, as her head only came up to his mid arm, feeling oddly grateful, but also a bit raw.

She continued. "Guess everyone does their fair share of waiting for things. Most people just sit around waiting for life to happen around them. I used to be like that." She said, tugging on a strand of her hair.

Castiel shifted, looking at the line. A person had left, making it only three people ahead of him.

"What changed?" Castiel asked, looking back.

"I met Sam and Dean. I actually had a monster for a boss, long story. But they changed my life. They're not like that, you know, always waiting for life to happen. They go out and fight for what they believe in. It's kind of inspiring to know them. You're like that too, I think."

"They have always been remarkable humans." Castiel replied, ignoring the part about himself.

"Yes, they have." Charlie agreed.

Finally, they were called forward, and Castiel basically shoved the papers and Sam's cash at the man behind the counter, hoping that was enough. The man took the information, and proceeded to tell Castiel that it would be another half hour wait while he filled the prescriptions. Castiel felt his head fall forward.

"More waiting?" His words escaped, and the man waved him to the side impatiently.

"We all gotta wait, buddy."

The next half hour passed rather quickly, surprisingly, as Charlie dragged Castiel down each and every aisle of the store, stopping to look at anything that caught her fancy. It was a drug store, just like every other one in the country, but Castiel hadn't bothered to browse through the children's toy bins, or look at the candy, or read the insides of the greeting cards that lined a whole row.

He actually found some ones that he thought were funny, and made Charlie laugh. Passing the time, filling with mundane pleasures...this was so very human. It reminded him of his time in the hospital, trailing through the gardens in his white pyjamas, looking at bees and butterflies. Meg hadn't joined in as Charlie was though, and Castiel found it pleased him to show the red haired woman his various findings.

Charlie enjoyed making fun of the sentimental cards, but Castiel rather liked them, and found some of them rather touching. He spent a while looking at one that had a beautiful written apology in it.

Charlie saw what he was looking at, and put her hand on the card, placing it back on the shelf.

"You don't need that."

Castiel looked at her, and couldn't say a word. Then the name Winchester was called over the store radio, and they both looked up.

"Guess we should get your drugs." Charlie smiled, and pulled him by the sleeve towards the pharmacy section. Castiel looked back at the card one last time, and sighed. She was right, he didn't deserve an easy time of making up for all he'd done, and was doing.

After Castiel had picked up the medicine, Charlie purchased the small candies and items she'd found, and they made their way back out to the car. Castiel clutched the small paper bags, and tried to still the rattle of the pill bottles, which seemed to announce to the world I am an invalid. He eased himself into the car, and placed the bags on his lap.

"You should take the pills now." Charlie said, watching him. "You look like you're hurting pretty badly."

Castiel pulled apart the stapled opening, and dumped out the bottles: one full of antibiotics and another half full of opiates. If they'd take away this ache, this sharpness that glittered like glass underneath his skin, he'd gladly take them all.

Charlie handed him a water bottle from the seat divider, and watched him pour out the appropriate doses. "It's easier to swallow them if you drink water with them."

It was true. Though the water was warm, it washed away the bitterness of hte pills when they tried to get stuck in his throat.

"So," Charlie started, after he'd finished, and replaced the water bottle. Her hands were on the key, buy she hadn't turned it yet.  
"Where to?"

Castiel shifted in the seat, willing the painkiller to take effect, and then looked over at her. There seemed to be a weight to her words, but he couldn't quite place it.

"The motel," He said, confused. She bit her lip.

"Are you sure? Sam and Dean's place is a little over three hours away."

"No." Castiel's body tensed up without conscious thought, and pain sparked along his limbs. There was a twisting to his stomach that had nothing to do with the pills he'd taken.

Charlie looked at him for a minute longer, and then she shrugged one shoulder.

"Okay." There was silence as she pulled out onto the road, until she spoke again, her eyes fixed on a red light. "Just...don't take too long to decide, okay?"


	10. Splinter

Chapter Title: Splinters

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: Dean moved to a new tree, breaking it's perfect pattern of interwoven bark. Several more strips of raw wood peeked out light against the surrounding thick skin of the tree, and Dean could relate. Every word, every sentence exposed something new and raw and and it stung like hell, like he was peeling away layers of flesh around his own heart and who knew what would be left by morning.

* * *

Sam was playing dirty, and Dean knew it.

Problem was he couldn't be bothered to give a damn.

The manipulative little bastard was suddenly all about _rest_ and _salad_ and friggin' _herbal tea_ and letting Dean make soup while he lay in bed and read books from the Men of Letters' library as Dean played courier. He was kept busy - or maybe he was keeping _himself_ busy taking care of his overgrown, medically-overdue little brother.

Not that he hadn't caught Sam staring blankly at the papers spread over his lap, lips and eyebrows twitching and maybe he was crying but Dean - for all his talk of wanting to help - turned tail and ran.

As long as he kept moving he was fine. His promise to abstain from alcohol remained intact - although he had to avoid that section of the store altogether on supply runs because he could imagine the sweet oblivion it might bring and oh, he wanted it _bad_.

There were, of course, stretches of time when he wasn't needed, when he stood still for too long and found the secure walls echoing with things he'd rather not think about, rather not remember.

He closed the door to his room and took up residence in one closer to Sam's, grumbling roughly about needing to be closer in case Sam needed someone to give him a sponge bath or manicure. Sam had stared at him a long time before nodding, "Alright."

The third day back Sam said he needed to get out, and although Dean protested - he could get whatever Sam needed - he didn't stop him. Sam had been getting better and even Dean couldn't deny it. His bruising was still fading, but he was losing that sallow look and his eyes were brighter and cheeks warmer. He wasn't coughing at all, and despite the tenderness was moving around with more energy and ease.

So Dean let him go, and focused himself on cleaning out his entire arsenal.

Sam wasn't gone long, but came back with two cups of good coffee. Dean nodded his thanks, and set the coffee aside.

He wasn't going to drink himself into a stupor, but that didn't mean he had to welcome consciousness.

Sam hadn't tried to say anything after the first night. Dean was grateful for that, at least. What could he say, really? That it sucked? That it was unfair? That the price had always been too big and this time it was too much?

So he moved about, ate well, slept fitfully in a bed that wasn't his because he couldn't _be_ where he'd so often called out when he knew that the line had been disconnected and -

He shook his head, and focused on his 1911.

…

Two days later he got a call from Charlie.

"I took some time off and I'm headed your way," her voice was welcoming and alive, and a little bit of Dean warmed up.

"C'mon Charlie, you don't have to -" embarrassment was making his neck hot. Sam had probably called her, and he was half annoyed and half grateful. "We're doing alright."

"Who said it's for you?" she teased, "Maybe I need a vacation - not everything revolves around you Dean." But Dean knew better. She was coming for him because she loved him and Sam had opened his fat gob but it didn't matter so much because he'd felt cold and empty for days but she was warm and bright and would understand.

She'd distract him like Sam, with his careful glances and silent monologues on Dean's unhealthy emotional management, couldn't.

"Alright. I'll make up a room."

"Smell ya later, dork."

"I love you, too."

…

Charlie sat cross legged on the countertop, watching Dean cut vegetables for dinner and discussing the pros and cons of various gaming platforms.

They'd just finished a competition of sorts down in the shooting range - and Dean had just narrowly lost - although it may have been on purpose. He was a gentleman, after all - or he'd pretend to be for her. She was so unintentionally and unapologetically enthusiastic and he wondered if, maybe, given a different life, he might have been like that.

But, no. Her affection for him didn't give him the right to leech on her happiness, to pretend he was anything other than himself.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

She paused, uneasiness creeping into the edges of her tone. "What...what _happened_, a few days ago? With, uhm," she sounded guilty, "Castiel?"

Indecision wrenched at him - the one side knowing if he shrugged it off and asked not to talk about it then she'd respect him, the other side of him stomped a foot, yelling about having been quiet for days and it was _time_ and if there were anyone he could talk to about this, it'd be _her_.

He bit his, lip, then, soothing it, turned back to chopping the pepper on the cutting board

"There was a...uhm, a footnote, I guess - part of the trials, added in as a sort of afterthought. Sam did the trials alright but it needed a little more TNT to take effect. So Cas, he flew up right to the frontlines and, ehm..." he cleared his throat, "Put his grace there. There was an…explosion and after it all just went still. Got Sam back into the car and came here."

She didn't respond but he wished she would because his mind was filling up the silence with things he hadn't let himself consider, hadn't allowed to develop but oh how they sprang to life now and he shook out his head and bit his lip again but his voice came out all the same, gruff and compensating.

"I just...he always takes things by the horns, you know. Raphael, Leviathan, now this...and it's always so _big_ but this one was _too_ big. I dunno how many 1-UP mushrooms he took to get this far but he ran out...

"It's all just...too much. And it always is, always has been," Dean ran a hand over his face. "I can't keep up with it, with _him_. And I shouldn't have expected him to slow down, but...he always put it on me - the things he did - for me or because of me or because I wasn't there - but never let me in, let me help..."

"I just...there was so much _stuff_ between us - good and bad...and he had just barely come back and now..."

He breathed, wet his lips, and turned to look at Charlie. There was something off in her expression. A weird lining to her concern and sympathy that didn't make sense.

"I'm really, really sorry, Dean," she looked so pained.

He wanted to shrug, but instead he just sort of jerked non-committally. "I just gotta get it in my head what I can and can't handle. But, ah...thanks...for being here."

Charlie let out a breathy laugh, "I'm not doing anything except bumming a bed and working on my aim."

"Don't sell yourself short there, kiddo," Dean said, half-smiling. "You're doing a hell of a lot more than you think."

She nodded, looking down, suddenly so very young and Dean wouldn't pry, but something wasn't quite right with Charlie Bradbury.

…

The evening passed in relative quiet - dinner, a movie set up in a comfortable lounge area and then they went their separate ways. Sam turned in with another stack of library books, and Charlie was fishing her laptop and headphones out of her canvas bag and settling comfortably in one of the more plush chairs. Dean bid her goodnight and headed to bed.

The small gateway that had opened this afternoon had seen a steady trickle of traffic through. Once he'd spoken to Charlie, it seemed, his mind had taken it as permission to dwell on things in a way he couldn't stop. He'd stared at the screen while the movie played this evening but couldn't focus, ignoring the glances exchanged between Charlie and Sam.

He got undressed and lay on his substitute bed. The walls were bare and the mattress not as comfortable. Sans the sketchy stains and smells, it was very much like the motel rooms he'd grown up in. Non-committal, just a place to lick his wounds before he got back on the road.

He got up, slipped his robe on and walked down the hallway, pausing briefly before Sam's open door and listening to the reassuringly un-haggard breathing and gentle page turning. Then he stood before his own door. His fingers glanced around the edges of the knob. He was terrified - he knew the anxious feeling that wound through his veins well enough to admit that much. He heard uneven breathing and realized it was his own, so he grabbed the doorknob, eyebrows pulled in and turned the knob.

Logically, he knew the room must be empty. There was no reason that it should have been occupied. Yet a part of his mind still staggered back at the vacancy. Just a few clothing items tossed onto the bench on the right, his bed made up as he'd left it. What had he been expecting?

Half-formed pictures erupted in the forefront of his mind. The back of a tan overcoat, the partial profile of _his_ face, a hand carefully touching the edges of the photographs on Dean's desk - a soft remark of how Mary Winchester had been a very pretty woman.

Or set, stony shoulders in the same apparel. Disdain dripping from accusations. _You should have been prepared better. You could never have hoped to close the gates of Hell alone and I paid the price. Again._

Or just a corpse. Crumpled and bloody like he'd seen it too often. As if, after everything, Jimmy Novak's body had made it here as a testament of how Dean Winchester had failed. Again.

How Dean Winchester was alone, again.

How he must resign himself to that.

It was then that something totally different - something simmering quietly - rose to a full boil inside of him and he dressed quickly, grabbed his car keys and strode out of the bunker purposefully.

The night air was still warm from the heat of the day, a cool breeze winding through the trees - but the air seemed only to swarm around his ears, whispering, _alone alone alone alone alone_ until the word roared through his body like a tidal wave and he threw open the trunk to the Impala more forcefully than he should have, taking only a second to locate the old, heavy axe. Without bothering to shut the trunk he walked deep into the woods surrounding the bunker, until he was at a place he was sure he didn't have to ever see again.

He wouldn't burden himself with this after tonight. He would leave it here. Leave Castiel here in the quiet wood and never _never_ think of him again.

_alone... alone... alone alone alone Alone Alone ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE_

He swung the ax into a large trunk.

He swung and he swung and he swung the axe until he stopped seeing trees he just felt the impact shudder down the tool, up his arm and vibrated through his rib cage and his hands were going numb from his grip and he was burning hot, blinking burning sweat from his eyes and maybe there were tears too but he didn't stop them as he kept swinging, punishing this little section of wood for all the _hurt_ and _loss_ and _dammit, Cas_.

He went until he couldn't feel his hands and the grain of the wood splintered identical patterns through his own bones. He hacked at the bark of one tree until he'd reduced its face to raw splinters and then turned to another. And another and another.

Distantly he heard the gasps and heavy breaths and groans he knew must be his but he couldn't stop.

He pulled Cas' face up, the expression he'd made in those last few minutes - apologetic and gentle - and Dean swung harder.

He'd kissed Sammy's head like his sasquatch brother was a child.

He shattered another section of bark.

Powerless, always so powerless and would no one just _stay with him_?

Wooden shrapnel flew and he squinted to avoid it although it grazed his face and caught in the folds of his shirt.

These people, these creatures that he surrounded himself with that cared, but never enough to stay, like they _couldn't_ and Dean was so small and never _enough_.

But the ghost of chapped lips pressed chastely against his own, and every explanation neither of them would never give, apologies never spoken, the mile wide pile of _stuff_ that would never be sorted compiled, as if that gesture in those moments could compensate for the impending nothingness when the other shoe dropped.

But what else could have been said?

All at once the fight left him. His stiff fingers protested as he wrenched them, knuckle by knuckle from the worn wood and heard the soft _thump-thump_ as the head first and then the handle of the axe landed on the leaf-strewn ground.

He felt his chin trembling and his shoulders fell and he tipped his head back, breathing and choking has he registered his own tears. They filtered through the bags under his eye and the lines leading to his mouth, salty and hot. One dipped into his ear and he focused on the minute sensation, steadying his breath.

"Dean?"

He stared, and nearly tripped backwards as he whirled around. Sam's outline was just visible in the dark.

He steadied his breath, and wiped his face, "What the hell are you doing out here, Sammy? I thought you went to bed."

"Honestly? Making sure you didn't come out here to kill yourself." Sam's voice was deadly serious.

Wow. Don't sugar coat it. "No point in that Sammy - I'm no good at dying," Dean scoffed bitterly, "Just getting people dead."

"Dean -"

"Sam..." Dean couldn't see his face. But it was probably pained and sympathetic and scrunched around the mouth and Dean was grateful it was dark. "I know you want me to sit down and cry about my feelings, but..."

He heard Sam's feet coming closer. His head fell heavy on his damp chest and he sighed.

"I'm not pretending to know what's happening with you, Dean, or how you have to deal...I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I just -" Dean shook his head, eyes burning again, "He was family, dammit. Why can't the people I care about just..."

The axe lay at his feet and he bent down to scoop it up into his grip again. He didn't want to hear about how Sam was here and Charlie was here because dammit, he _knew_ but right now _Cas wasn't_.

The blade stuck into the bark and Dean yanked it out again.

"Bastard would never stick around," he grunted, swinging again. "Didn't matter - after everything - I'd never ask - I wanted it to be _his_ choice...shoulda known."

The splinters flew again. Sam didn't try and move any closer - a smart move, for once. And now Dean was going, and he would keep going.

"I dunno whether to be pissed at him or the universe," he moved to a new tree, breaking it's perfect pattern of interwoven bark, "Dunno if he'd have stuck around anyway. I never know -"

Several more strips of raw wood peeked out light against the surrounding thick skin of the tree, and Dean could relate. Every word, every sentence exposed something new and raw and and it stung like hell, like he was peeling away layers of flesh around his own heart and who knew what would be left by morning.

"I told him, Sammy, told him I needed him! And the bastard _left_. Made himself into a supernova and I get why - it all makes sense on paper but here," he turned back to Sam, using his free hand to fist his shirt over his heart, "It was _wrong_ and I couldn't stop him - he just _left_."

Another several minutes he spent defacing another trunk, going as deep as he dared, cutting deep, as if he could get to the center of this tree and hit it hard enough, carve away until there was nothing left then maybe he wouldn't have to feel anymore. His shoulders and muscles screamed to stop and finally he stepped back, tossing the axe aside and breathed.

"I'm never enough, Sammy. I mean you must just be too stupid to stay away because everyone else gets the picture..."

He stepped forward, pressing himself into the tree, feeling the shattered innards of years of work - destroyed in minutes.

"I thought he was back for good. We were family. He was gonna stay in the bunker and watch stupid movies and we could finally sort through all that _shit_ he had and we had and we never got to it. Didn't have time."

Pinpricks of the wood pressed into his hands, threatening to break skin and leave splinters and suddenly he pushed off, hands protesting at the needles of pain and then he yelled,

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! I NEEDED YOU AND YOU NEEDED ME YOU BASTARD! WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST STICK AROUND?" the words echoed oddly through the trees, "IF I MEANT SO MUCH WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST STAY?...WHY? _DAMMIT_, WHY?"

Splinters pushed into his skin as he curled his fingers into fists. "Right, there wasn't another way," he said humorously. "Like _hell_ there wasn't another way, there's _always_ another way - we always find something and why'd he have to do it? Honorary Winchester, we're all dumb as shit when it comes to self-sacrificing! Stupid bastard..."

He sighed, suddenly so tired. He felt every swing of the axe in his chest and the bloody pulp of his insides still beating and churning.

"I just wanted him to stay, Sammy," he said, knowing how broken and desperate and pathetic he sounded but now wasn't the time to put up a pretense of dignity. "Just wanted to work through all that crap that's piled up and now he's gone. And I miss the bastard, but it felt like half the time I didn't even know him. And I gave so much but he never let me in - and then when crap hit he goes and..."

His voice died and he had to consciously keep his body from sagging to the ground.

"he _kissed_ me, Sam." His voice was little more than a croak, "And it wasn't about the kiss so much as it was like...the first time I _understood_, finally, like he'd been saying how he did all this crap for me and profound bond or whatever the hell that means and I'd been saying how I needed him and how he was family and neither of us really heard each other until then. And god _dammit_ Sammy...I felt it..." He turned to his brother and stepped forward, advancing until he was grinding out his next words in Sam's face. "Cas cares a whole hell of a lot and maybe you're right- maybe the stupid shit loves me but he's _gone_ so what the _hell_ does it matter anyway!?"

He stood there, trying to force his breath into an even pattern, unclenching his fist and swallowing to soothe his throat. He wished Sam would say something. Anything really, because he was out of words.

Sam's face was contorted, mouth twisting and eyes squinting and blinking to push out another and another in a steady stream of tears and the big brother in Dean wanted to pull him close but the selfish part of Dean was angry again and wanted to punch his brother out for presuming to feel anything about this.

But Dean didn't get the choice as Sam pulled him in, and he didn't let his hands shove - maybe they tried but they ended up just clutching at his brother's shirt. Trying to steady his breath had been in vain as the gasps and shuddering breaths wrenched from him and his face screwed up, chin trembling against his brother's shoulder and the tears were coming out in earnest now. And they kept on coming.


	11. Haze

Chapter Title: Haze

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Castiel, left to his own devices, passes a miserable night when the haze of the painkillers brings up emotions and memories he'd rather not think about.

* * *

The drugs did kick in not long after that, and Castiel dozed in the car as Charlie procured another bag of groceries and then took them both back to the motel. He stumbled at the motel curb, blinking.

The haze of the drugs made his limbs leaden and his head spun lazily, making him grab for the body of the car. He touched sweatshirt, and then Charlie was under his arm, leading him into the room, where he was promptly dropped onto the bed. He heard her soft noises for another minute or two, and then the warm, blurry darkness swallowed him.

Later, he woke, distinctly uncomfortable. His body ached again, his head felt musty and his stitches and healing scrapes itched. It was the last item that seemed the most unbearable, strangely, and he wiggled around, trying to wake up enough to scratch or soothe or something. The light was gone, by this point, but he had to look at the red digits of the bedside clock to know that it was nearly midnight, and he'd been asleep for nearly ten hours. He sat up slowly, wincing, and feeling in turns sick and starving, his body too warm, and sticky with sweat.

_By Heaven, this was miserable._

Pushing himself out of the bed, Castiel walked over to the bathroom, needing to wash the itch off himself. Though he'd observed humanity for a millenia, and he understood the mechanics of showers since running water had been invented, it still took him an embarrassingly long time to get the water started, and then to get it to an acceptable temperature. Then, once he was stripped off and shivering, he was long time entranced by the goosebumps on the flesh of his arm, his mind wandered off into paths unknown. Finally, he shook himself, winced, and stepped under the hot spray, only to jump backwards, some unsavory swear words jumping to his lips. The water felt amazing on his sore muscles, but most of his body was covered with scrapes, and friction burns from his literal crash to Earth, and the water _seethed_ over the wounds like lava.

He'd forgotten to take off the bandages, so Castiel peeled off the wet tape and material, and got his first real look at the stitching which covered the deepest of the gashes. They were reddened, but healing normally-for a human anyway. Steeling himself, he poured out some of the thin motel soap, and carefully scrubbed himself down, and then got out and dry quickly. The relief he'd hoped for had been elusive, and the bathroom was too quiet, too muffled and allowed his thoughts to float down paths he'd rather steer clear of.

Once he was done, his wet hair dripping down his neck, he re-bandaged the wounds, and then grabbed his pain pill bottle. The instructions said to eat with it, so he wandered over to the mini fridge, and peering inside. He saw his leftovers from lunch, along with more groceries from Charlie, and a few bottles of water. Castiel took the sandwich out, before deciding that it was too quiet, and flipping on something on the television. He ate, staring blankly.

The pills didn't make him sleep this time, so after he felt the effects he just lay there, his body heavy and his head swimming. In that state, he had little control over his thoughts and emotions.

At some point, he fell into a sort of haze, and his thoughts began to dribble forth without his permission. Whirling thoughts about the day he'd sacrificed himself again, the wind blurring his voice, the faces of Sam and especially Dean as he left them. He'd kissed Sam on the head, a blessing, and then Dean more intimately...he'd not expected to have to explain himself for that, he's not expected to live again. Though he should have. Honestly, he never could die right, as Naomi had said.  
Castiel took a breath, felt the ghost of Dean's lips against his own, and let it out, shuddering. He felt like he was full of broken bones; one movement would shatter him completely.

He wasn't blind enough to think that Dean wouldn't mourn him, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. The longer that Castiel spent holed up here, licking his wounds and hiding from the world, the more Dean would hurt...the more angry he'd be when the truth finally came out.

Yet the thought of facing Dean, explaining his actions, of facing Dean's pain and Dean's rage...and his own as well...terrified him, made his stomach churn and his heart race, even through the drugs he'd taken. He rolled over, into a clumsy ball and hugged his arms around his chest. He felt tight and tense and so much pressure and he knew somewhere Dean was feeling the same, and he just. Couldn't.

He gasped, hitched a breath.

_How far you've fallen, angel._ An inner voice, a bitter one, whispered. _Fallen, with a capital F._

He was broken, useless, human and weak. A baby not even wearing a trenchcoat anymore. His chest was a painful stone, and a simmering bitterness, a hatred of his shaking limbs, his spinning head, and his uncontrollable emotions rose up, and he turned his face into his pillow. Hiding. Running, always running. It felt like he'd been on the run forever, but it wasn't just the angels, Heaven, or Hell...he ran from his emotions, so new, so raw. So much. Too much.

_Could no one just let him be?_

After a while, he slept, and his sleep was deep, but dark. Angels weren't meant to dream.


	12. Lies

Chapter Title: Lies

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: "Are you insane?" Sam asked, "Or just blind?" "Cut the macho crap, Sam," Charlie said, "You feel guilty and that's fine - so do I - and yeah we need to tell Dean but hello -" she gestured around, "-this is really where you want him emotionally when you tell him that we've been helping his best friend play dead while's up to here in the 5-steps?" Charlie POV

* * *

Charlie was blissfully absorbed in WOW when she felt someone with her. She paused the game, looked up to find the hulking form of Sam, standing impatiently, shuffling from one foot to the other like a giant five year old that needed to use the bathroom.

Sam Winchester was a twitchy dude on a good day, but now he was pretty much convulsing.

"Dude. Chill," Charlie said, pulling one side of her headphones away from her ear. "What's up?"

"We have to get Cas - _now_," he said through his teeth.

Charlie looked around in alarm for Dean.

"He's in bed still," Sam said, "I checked."

"Okay, dude," she pulled her headphones off and set her laptop aside, "I repeat, _chill_. Care to explain?"

"Come with me," Sam turned swiftly and marched out of the room, Charlie scrambled to keep up.

"You know, you could just _tell_ me what's going on. Tone down the theatricality?"

Sam didn't respond and she rolled her eyes, but jogged obediently as he took them through the front door of the bunker and far enough into the woods that she lost sight of the hulking batcave when she looked around.

"How far away to we have to be to talk about this like human beings?" she grumbled.

She did her best not to trip over branches and holy crap - Sam's legs were like, ridiculously long because she was now out of breath just trying not to lose him - when suddenly he stopped.

She narrowly avoided running into him, "Thanks for the warning - _now_ can we-?"

The question died as her surroundings registered. Splinters, cream-colored and fresh scattered the ground and, turning slowly on the spot, she saw the shards and open wounds where something had torn viciously, mercilessly, at the trunks of every tree in the vicinity.

"What did this?" she asked, fear churning in her stomach as anxiety pooled in her feet, begging her to run.

"Dean."

"What?" She turned to Sam, who had, finally, stopped having a seizure, and was looking around with slightly red eyes.

"Dean. Last night, after we went to bed. He hasn't been sleeping in his own room since Cas, and last night he finally went back in. I think it was just too much for him. Came out here and started wailing on trees with an axe."

"Did you see him?"

"Yeah, I heard him leave," Sam sighed. "I thought he was going to kill himself, so I followed"

"_Kill_ himself?" she felt the blood drain from her face.

"I thought it might be the last straw, you know. But he just took it out on the trees, I guess."

"I see that," Charlie said. If it were anything, anyone else she'd throw the mother of all bitchfits to make it known just how she felt about this sort of abuse of the earth, but now wasn't the time.

"We have to get Cas, today. We can't let Dean go on like this, he has to know and I can't lie to him when he's -"

"Woah there, Winchester," Charlie interrupted, "I don't think so."

"Are you insane?" Sam asked, "Or just _blind_?"

"Cut the macho crap, Sam," Charlie said, "You feel guilty and that's fine - so do I - and _yeah_ we need to tell Dean but hello -" she gestured around, "-this is really where you want him emotionally when you tell him that we've been helping his best friend play dead while's up to here in the 5-steps?"

"Charlie..." Sam had a knack of looking like a 6' 4" five year-old, and the fading bruises didn't help. "I don't know what to do. He's hurting and he can't..."

"And what do you think Castiel is going through - it's _his_ choice when he comes back and you can't force it!"

"Are we not seeing the same thing, here or what?" Sam asked, anger creeping like weeds around his words.

"You haven't even _seen_ Castiel, Sam. I have. He's mourning too! Dean as much as his grace, which I'm relatively sure is a big deal for him! You want to take this just-hospital-discharged-fallen angel - who's still trying to figure out this whole humanity changing-clothes-and-eating-when-you're-hungry schtick and throw him into _this_? Castiel is in shock still, Sam" she gestured around. "They both deserve better. We both have to nut up and make the transition easier. I'm all for them getting the show on the road, but not like _this_."

"I hate lying to him, Charlie."

"Yeah well, me too," she said, "I didn't see him trying to chop down a forest but a see a lot of what he _doesn't_ say. It seems cruel but at the end of the day Dean deserves to mourn this before we hand him another bomb, and Castiel deserves a little recovery time. It's not like he _planned_ to live."

"...Fine."

Charlie rolled her eyes. Like he had a choice. Charlie was now the conductor of this mess and she'd see it done right...And then donate a large sum of money to forest protection...


	13. Dark

Chapter Title: Dark

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: Go tell that long tongue liar. Go and tell that midnight rider  
Tell the rambler, the gambler the back biter  
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down,  
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down... -Johnny Cash (God's Gonna Cut You Down)

* * *

Dean stared at his ceiling a very long while, fishing for something - anything left that hadn't been expelled the night before. His muscles ached and he felt the punctuation of knots and stiffness in his arms and shoulders - but that was all. Perhaps he'd screamed enough and swung enough that there wasn't anything left of himself inside.

That'd be a relief.

His room was inviting once again, the mattress comfortable and the decor familiar yet he felt oddly detached. The chances of anyone bothering him today were slim to none. No doubt Sam would go and bitch about Dean's episode to Charlie and they'd let him stay in his room until they deemed his health or hygiene or both to be in danger.

He could live with that.

So he stared at the ceiling, traced the patterns into highways and freeways and back country roads that went on and on...

He imagined the purr of Baby's engine, and considered throwing on a vinyl to complete the fantasy, but decided against it. The bed was warm and the floor would be cold on his feet. His voice would do, anyway.

The notes came out nonsensically at first, hummed without real purpose, hoping perhaps to stumble upon something like a familiar tune. He almost smiled when a few notes strung together of a Johnny Cash song and he hummed a few measures before breathing out the lyrics quietly.

"You can run for a long time...run for a long time, run for a long time...sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down...

"Go tell that long tongue liar...go and tell that midnight rider...tell the rambler, the gambler the back biter...Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down, tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down...

His non-committal singing faded into clips of words as he wandered over the next few verses, coming back to himself, imagining the gravelly, haunting voice he'd played over Baby's speakers until the cassettes had to be replaced,

"Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand...workin' in the dark against your fellow man, but sure as God made black and white...what's down in the dark will be brought to the light...

"You can run on for a long time... run on for a long time, run on for a long time...sooner or later God'll cut you down...sooner or later God'll cut you down..." he hummed the last repeated chorus and let his voice face. His eyes were heavy and he didn't try to stop them as they eased close.

…

_knock...knock-knock._

Dean buried his face into his pillow, retrieving the limbs that had snuck out from under blankets and bringing them back against his body.

_knock-knock._

"What?" he grumbled.

"Dean...Are you okay?"

"'m fine, Sammy," he groaned.

"Can I come in?"

Sam apparently took the proceeding groan as a 'yes' and pushed the door open. A sharp strip of warm light from the hallway fell across his bed and he hid his face.

"What time is it?" Dean asked. There was a clock by his bedside but he was feeling useless and not in the mood to extend effort for anything.

"Almost midnight. You slept all day." Sam set a sandwich and a glass of water on his bedside table.

"I deserve a good night's - day's - rest, I think..." he turned back into his pillow, "Maybe two. Or three?"

"Dean..."

"Sam..." he grouched back, knowing it would only piss Sam off.

Sam just huffed.

"You feeling any better?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, a little reluctantly, "Better than in a long time. Like...normal."

"Good. I'm happy for you, Sammy," Dean said. And he meant it. "You deserve it."

Sam chuckled, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What now? What's next?"

"Well...I think once you get your oversized carcass of my bed I'm going to sleep some more."

"Seriously? It's been, like, almost twenty hours."

"It's been a rough couple years," Dean shrugged. He was feeling petulant and now that Sam was a grown up he could return the favor of Dean playing Mommy and Daddy for all those years. "Just let me stay in here for a while, okay. I'm not going to die...What's Charlie up to?"

"She took off this morning. Something nerdy - I didn't ask for details."

"Hmm."

"Something wrong?"

"Nah, just..." he shrugged again. "Hope she comes back. I like her."

""She said she'd only be gone a day or two."

"In that case I better get back to my beauty sleep. Can't slack on personal grooming when you're the Queen's handmaid."

"Maid?" Sam scoffed, "Yeah, right. Only in Moondoor Dean."

"Just get out, Sam," Dean said, letting impatience tug at the words.

Sam put up his hands defensively. "Hey I was just making sure you didn't _starve_, you ungrateful jerk."

"Thank you Sam," he sing-songed back.

Sam sighed again, pat him on the shoulder and then left.

Dean eyed the sandwich.

His stomach was pretty sure it was hungry but Dean didn't want to do_ anything_. He didn't want to extend the effort to eat the stupid sandwich. His throat was dry enough to make the water tempting, but even that took a few minutes of just staring to convince him.

It was tepid and soothing, and he drained the glass before lying back. Sam had closed the door when he left, once again throwing Dean into darkness. The air was too warm and the skin all over his body felt sticky and hot.

He pulled up more records in his mind, hummed nonsensically, muttering phrases here and there, and kept his eyes open. The dark room was comforting. The faintest indications of furniture or his weapons on the wall - like everything he was had been put far, far away and he didn't have to deal with it right now. He could allow broken phrases from Metallica and Lynyrd Skynyrd to float aimlessly in the hot atmosphere and if REO Speedwagon snuck in nobody was around and Dean wasn't feeling particularly sensitive about his pride anyway.


	14. Coffee

Chapter Title: Coffee

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Charlie finds out that Castiel is _not_ a morning person.

* * *

Charlie fought down a flutter of nerves as she knocked on the motel room door. She'd left Castiel asleep yesterday afternoon (and wasn't _that_ a weird thought, an angel asleep?) after stocking him up with more groceries and other essentials she thought were necessary for an invalid, including the DVD of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. She'd also left him with a cell phone, charged up and preloaded with her number, and Sam and Dean's, but she hadn't heard a peep from him, which was kinda concerning.

The knock sounded, too loud sounding, even though it was already after ten. There was a muffled noise from inside, and then silence again. She knocked one more time, reassured that he was at least alive in there, and then the door creaked open. Charlie had to quickly bite her lip at the sight of him.

"Wow, guess I should have gotten you some hair gel."

Castiel's hair was the definition of bed head, sticking up on the top impressively, and flattened to one side. His face was creased with those red pillow lines, he was getting a little more than a five o'clock shadow, and his eyes were barely open. "You alright, there Castiel?" Charlie asked.

He grumbled, and turned his back on her in favor of flopping back down into his bed, and wriggling into the nest of covers he'd created. She let him ignore her, and go back to dozing, and she entered the room, and put down the supplies she'd brought: more food, some less intense pain pills, and most importantly coffee.

The smell started to permeate, and Castiel twitched, sticking his face out of the blankets, still blinking too slowly to be truly there. She took the cup she'd gotten for him, and handed it to him.

"Here you go, big guy." He took the coffee, and sipped it without really emerging. She'd gotten him mocha, with chocolate and caramel syrup, and judging my the surprised noises of appreciation, he approved.

She sat on the other bed with her own coffee, darker with just cream and some dark chocolate, and watched him gulp down his drink from under the covers without spilling a drop. Impressive.

"Didn't know you liked coffee." She said, once he'd drained the cup, and was more vertical. He licked his lips, chasing the last drops of chocolate before answering.

"I acquired a taste for it while I was on the road, but I've never had it with chocolate before. It's very good."

Charlie nodded her agreement, sipping her own.

"Add chocolate to pretty much anything, and I'll eat it." She said.

Castiel set the empty cup on the side table regretfully, and sat up fully, yawning. She replied with a yawn herself, still waking up from the three hour drive, twice in two days.

"Did you sleep okay?" She asked, before taking a bigger gulp of caffeine. He blinked at her, looking adorably rumpled, like a puppy. Whoo, she needed more coffee, that was an angel of the Lord there, Charlie. No need to get sappy. She shook herself.

Castiel rubbed his face, looking slightly more alert.

"I dreamt." He said, voice still gruff from sleep. "I did not enjoy it."

Charlie winced in sympathy.

"Nightmares suck. Sorry about that."

There was a stretch of silence, while Castiel worked on waking up completely. Charlie drank her coffee and ended up staring into space, thinking about guilt and nightmares and other random topics her brain fired up. She really needed more sleep.

As her thoughts wandered, she found herself thinking of Dean. He'd had a hard night as well; the ruin of the trees could attest to it. But she still stood by what she'd said to Sam. They'd started down this path, and they couldn't stop in the middle, not with both Dean and Castiel in the states they were. Dean was a mess, and though Sam seemed to think throwing Castiel at him would fix it all, Charlie didn't think that was true. And Castiel was hurting too, and in no shape to being someone else's bandage. Let them both get over the shock: Dean of losing Castiel, and Castiel of losing his grace. Then, let the two of them be in the same room, and maybe, _maybe_, there wouldn't be an explosion worthy of a Die Hard movie.

So, as much as she might hate lying and sneaking around, she was committed to this. Never let it be said that Charlie Bradbury half-assed anything.

By this point, Castiel had reemerged from his nest of blankets, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor and shivering slightly. He looked at her, and blinked.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, suddenly, like he hadn't noticed her there before, and the coffee just appeared on the side table.

"Checking up on you," Charlie replied. He looked faintly annoyed,

"You should be with Dean. I'm fine here on my own."

She huffed a little, taken aback by his abruptness.

_Well, you're welcome_.

"I was," Charlie said. "All yesterday."

Castiel rubbed a hand across his face again, looking at the floor. He blew out a gust of air.

"How is he? And Sam?" His tone was apologetic, and Charlie berated herself for getting miffed. He was hurting and confused, he was allowed to bitch if he wanted to. Charlie bit her lip, wondering how much to tell him.

"Sam is fine. Finishing the trials put him back on the fast track, as far as health goes. And Dean..." Charlie paused. Castiel's eyes were fixed on hers. "He's hurting...a lot. He's angry, and sad, and..."

"And?" Castiel prompted, his voice rough.

"He misses you."

Castiel took her words like bullets, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.

"I'm know." He said. "I'm sorry."

He said the phrase like he'd said it a thousand times, but he never expected to be forgiven. Charlie reached across the aisle between the beds, and touched his knee.

"I didn't come here or say that to make you feel bad. I understand, I do. You need this time, and Dean isn't ready either."

He peeled his eyes open and looked at her, tilting his head the way that was always described in the books.

"It's okay." Charlie continued. "Me and Sam, we'll get you both through this."

He looked grateful, and raw and guilty and she couldn't understand how she'd thought his face was a blank before.


	15. Reflect

Chapter Title: Reflect

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: His bruising and soreness were clearing up steadily and every time he passed a mirror he thought he recognized and _liked_ the person that looked back at him more and more.

* * *

He was recovering - healing in a way he didn't think possible. Sam Winchester felt, for the first time, whole. Or, you know, on his way to wholeness.

He'd always felt alone, cut off from the world around him. But now he experienced the sensation in a whole new light. He was _alone_. Turning the pages of the books and manuscripts in the Men of Letters' library he knew that the blood running through his body to hands and fingers was healthy, just strings of pure human DNA. His mind was untainted. There was blissful relief in knowing that for once, for once in his life, he was just himself. His choices were unburdened by the weight of outside influence and he could not be swayed but by his own election.

A confidence and contentment lay like dew on his thoughts. Even as he worried and fretted over Dean there was a place in him that could not be touched by anybody but himself. He was the master of his own consciousness and damn, it felt good. His bruising and soreness were clearing up steadily and every time he passed a mirror he thought he recognized and _liked_ the person that looked back at him more and more.

He thought maybe now he understood Dean's excitement, right after they moved to the bunker, in setting up his own room - in creating a space that was just his.

He couldn't help smiling himself, surveying his thoughts and body and reflecting that this space was now his, and his alone to do with as he pleased.

However, contentement must periodically give way to concern.

Sam couldn't say he was surprised that Dean had finally broken down. Honestly, he was surprised that it had taken so long. Surprised that Dean hadn't felled the whole forest. But then again, maybe he would have if Sam hadn't shown up.

He supposed Charlie was right. Dean and Cas both needed time to recover and process what had happened, but by the time he and Dean were coming back from the woods, he was ready to drive to Lawrence and get Cas himself.

Watching Dean - watching him suppress and push the hurt away and distract himself with Charlie's company and playing nurse to Sam had hurt. A lot. Guilt at his own part in the deception itched uncomfortably as Dean moving carefully, purposefully around the bunker, each movement a direct and purposeful action or reaction - nothing accessory. Sam knew it was taking all he had to keep himself focused, from letting anything get through the cracks.

He was a bomb, the only question was when would he detonate, and how big a crater he would leave behind.

Sam didn't know how it was possible to feel everything he did all at once. Guilt, relief, contentment all jockeying around for center stage. But it was sorrow that had taken the forefront in the woods last night, as Dean tugged at his lapels and tears dampened his collar. All at once Sam was reminded how very _human_ they all were, and how strong Dean tried to be because he'd never been given any other options and how ridiculous and unfair that was.

And then the self-loathing for doing this to his own brother, letting him mourn someone who was alive and only hours away. He gripped Dean tighter and resolved to talk to Charlie in the morning.

And after a while Dean's body had stopped shaking and he'd pulled away without a word and walked back to the bunker, straight into his bedroom where he shut the door behind and didn't emerge all the next day.

Before he went to bed Sam made a sandwich and filled a large glass with water, took them to Dean's room and knocked hesitantly.

The following exchange had been somewhat less than stunning.

Now, in his own bed, holding one of the many books he'd brought from the library, he wondered what kind of shape Castiel was in. Bad enough to be in the hospital for a few days, to need painkillers and stitches. Charlie kept Sam updated while she was with him, though. Cas had been taking walks, drinking coffee, and didn't seem to be struggling too much with the aspect of simple human tasks- showering and eating and the like. He'd asked about them - Sam and Dean - apparently, and was aware, in some vague way, what Dean was going through, and what Charlie and Sam were going through keeping Castiel's secret.

He sighed. He didn't know at what point Dean and Castiel would be 'ready' or what that even meant. But if it was so important he'd wait.


	16. History

Chapter Title: History

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Charlie was a conundrum. Castiel had only spent significant amounts of time around a few certain humans, and it was safe to say that Charlie was unlike any of them. She was at times hyperactive, spoke in far too many references, and flirted as much as Dean did with pretty girls. But she was also caring, and fiercely protective of the WInchesters, as well as himself. It was odd, as he'd only known her for a day. Charlie takes Castiel out to lunch, and conversation ensues.

* * *

Charlie was a conundrum. Castiel had only spent significant amounts of time around a few certain humans, and it was safe to say that Charlie was unlike any of them. She was at times hyperactive, spoke in far too many references, and flirted as much as Dean did with pretty girls. But she was also caring, and fiercely protective of the WInchesters, as well as himself. It was odd, as he'd only known her for a day.

She'd brought coffee (heavenly stuff) and then shoved him into the bathroom to get dressed and clean up after his long night. He tried the jeans, finding that they fit well enough, although the fabric was more constrictive than he was used to, and emerged from the room to Charlie declaring they were going out to lunch.

Castiel grabbed a few of his pain pills, and followed her out to the car. She got in, and then slumped a little when she looked at the dashboard.

"Blerk," She muttered. Castiel looked over curiously. "I'm almost out of gas."

"You're upset. Cars need fuel to run." Castiel said, and Charlie blew out a gust of air so that her bangs fluttered on her forehead.

"I'm not upset so much as annoyed. I literally filled up two days ago. And having to stop just to fill up is time consuming."

Charlie put the car in drive, and pulled out of the motel parking lot. "It's alright, I'll just do it on the way to wherever we're eating. What do you feel like?"

Castiel blinked at her. Then assuming she meant food, and not his general state of wellbeing, which she'd already asked about, he answered.

"I have limited experience with human foods."

Charlie pulled into a gas station, and got out to pump, leaving the window down so that she could still speak to him.

"Well, have you tried anything so far that you want again, or do you want something new?"

Castiel stared across the parking lot at another woman pumping gas. There was a dog in her front seat, and often she'd stop to scratch at it's ears through the window.

"I don't know." He said, turning back to Charlie after what was probably a too long pause.

Charlie, finishing at the gas pump, and coming back into the car stopped to push her hair  
back.

"Okay, well...how about Chinese?" She gestured at a small, run down looking building across the street. He didn't have any objections. He'd enjoyed a few days passed in China through the centuries. He'd always found their philosophies engaging.

They got lunch, receiving bowls full to the brim of noodles, rice and various concoctions of vegetables, and meats. He particularly liked the orange chicken, while Charlie favored the moo shu pork. Charlie apologized for taking him to "American Chinese" and not good chinese, which was ridiculous, because he thought it was very good, and because since it was prepared in the United States, it _was_ american chinese, and he didn't see why that should be a problem.

They ate in silence for a moment, and then Charlie lifted her chopsticks towards him.

"So, you totally don't have to, but what's your story?" Castiel looked down at the tabletop, putting his own chopsticks down on the surface. Charlie's eyes widened. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. It's just the books don't say much, and Dean has barely said _anything_ about you-"

"What do the books say?" Castiel looked up at her, feeling the chinese food churn in his stomach. How far in his past did the prophet write? Did she know all he'd done?

Charlie blinked.

"Well, the published hard copies went up to Dean going to Hell. The ebooks go from you rescuing him to Sam defeating Lucifer, and then they just stop."

Castiel stared, his stomach now swooping in something like relief. That meant everything since then; his deal with Crowley, his betrayal and theft of power, and his actions as a false god were unknown. Charlie wasn't aware of his sins.

She was looking at him, concern on her face, at his probably blatant look of relief.

"Castiel? You okay?" She asked, swallowing her bite of pork. Castiel nodded, and a new feeling washed over him, a sinking in his chest, a bitter tension. Disappointment. He'd _hoped_ that she'd known the worst all along, ever since the books came up. He'd wished that she already knew he was a monster, and was choosing to care for him anyway. If she didn't know, than her help, her affectionate manner was only based on her impression of him from those books. He'd been the being who'd helped avert the apocalypse, who'd ripped out his grace to help humanity, who'd rebelled against Heaven because Dean had asked him to. That shining creature could conceivably be called a hero, at least to Charlie's eyes, as a purveyor of stories. It was an excellent story, with a good cast of characters, but she didn't know that one of them had gone mad and ripped up the world. She didn't know.

"No, I'm actually not okay..." Castiel said, drawing Charlie's eyes, and holding her gaze. Some sick part of him wanted to see her horror grow, her faith in him break. "There are things you don't know about me. Things I've done."

Charlie sat back. "Woah, I'm not a confessional, dude."

Castiel shifted, feeling frustration rise up. "But you're helping me, and you think I'm some sort of hero, but I'm not. I'm about the furthest thing from a hero that you can get." He was aware of his voice growing more strained, his eyes widening, trying to get her to understand, to run. She needed to know the truth, so she could leave him in good conscience. "Sam shouldn't have asked you to help me."

Charlie put a hand out, placing it on his arm. "Okay, okay, calm down." He shook her off.

"You don't understand, Charlie. I'm...I'm not-"

"Look...Whatever it is you've done, Dean knows, right?" She said.

Castiel nodded, closing his eyes.

"He knows." Most of it, anyway. He'd not gotten up the courage nor had the time to tell him  
much about his time with Naomi, but Dean knew enough.

"Alright. And he'd forgiven you, hasn't he?"

Castiel opened his eyes, but could only move his gaze to the half full bowl of cooling food. He couldn't imagine eating it now.

"He's said so. But he was so angry right before, I don't think he has completely."

"You don't get that sad, or angry over people you don't care about." Charlie said, her voice soft. Castiel glanced up, as she leaned forward, her own food also forgotten. "Honestly, he will be mad. He'll be furious we're lying to him, and you know that. But, Castiel, I think what Dean really wants is a chance to fix it."

Castiel wanted to believe it. His throat tightened at the thought that maybe _maybe_ someday, he and Dean could be alright again. It was harder than it should have been to regain control over his emotions. Finally, after a long pause, he blinked up at Charlie. She smiled.

"You okay now?" She asked, now looking a little nervous, where she'd been only calming and confident before. He was struck again by how strange and amazing this girl was. He'd met her yesterday, and she already felt this need to be sure that he was fine. He found himself wanting to know more about her.

"I'm fine, thank you." Castiel said, and Charlie smiled wider, and picked up her chopsticks again. Castiel decided against his, the congealed meat looked rather unappetizing. "What about you? What's...your story?"

He felt a rush of gratitude when she shifted excitedly, and cleared her throat. "Well, I'm no angel of the Lord, but I've had a few adventures. One time, I even saved the damsel in distress." She tilted her head, "And the Winchesters..."


	17. Half

Chapter Title: Half

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: "How'm I supposed to do that, Charlie?" he asked. He felt like a child, "He's gone. and there's a mountain of shit and I only know the half of it...how do I deal with the half I know absolutely nothing about?"

* * *

Charlie didn't offer up any explanation for where she'd been for two days when she walked right into Dean, arms tangling in his overshirt, as if unsure whether to go outside or inside - and then just not giving a damn - as she hugged him tightly.

"Hey there, kiddo," he said, returning the embrace. Sam stood in the doorway and Dean shot him a look of confusion. "What's up?"

Sam jerked his shoulders.

"Not much," Charlie shrugged, pulling away slowly, "What's the word here at basecamp?"

"Honestly? Not a whole lot," Dean said. "Things have been pretty quiet and we've been...ah...resting."

"Cool beans," Charlie said, "you deserve it." She looked around to Sam and smiled, "You're looking great - like a million times less dead."

"Thanks Charlie," Sam laughed a little.

"How about you?" Charlie turned to Dean again, then squinted at his face, "Where's your scruff?"

"Ah - shaved just this morning," Dean replied, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

"Hmm," her head tilted a little as her eyebrows went up, "Shame, I liked it a little bit grown out - coulda sworn it was red."

"It is," Dean said, "That's why I keep it down."

"C'mon dude, if you got it, own it," Charlie said, gesturing to her own hair.

"Leprechaun beards don't go over so well when you're faking FBI," Dean said grinning, feeling ridiculously warm and fond.

Her face contorted into disbelief, "You bring Sam's _hair_ along and think that a little red beard is going to raise questions? No offense, Sam, I totally dig it, I'm just saying..."

The banter continued over sandwiches, until the conversation moved to tactics for the upcoming meleé and Sam excused himself with the long suffering, intellectually-holier-than-thou expression he sometimes got even though he was the nerdiest dude on the planet. Because seriously he'd taken to the whole Legacy thing like a younger version of Sam to demon blood and didn't look like he was slowing down.

"So," Charlie looked suddenly nervous, pulling her sleeves past her wrists and curling her fingers over the hems, "How are you? Really, though?"

Dean sat back. Shame he liked her so much. Something in her wide eyed, nervous gaze drew him in and he found himself incredibly grateful that he'd met her when he did and not before. He wasn't so good at compartmentalizing back then, and he hated the thought that maybe he'd have taken out his anger, hurt, depression, etc on her. And she didn't deserve it.

He licked his lips, looking away and trying to gather his thoughts.

"Sam tell you about the other night?"

Charlie's expression shifted for a moment, then she said, carefully, "In the woods?"

"...yeah."

"He told me - showed me, actually."

Dean bit his lip, looking away.

"Look, Charlie -"

"It's ok, Dean. You don't have to explain to me - just..." she fidgeted again, brows pulled in as if choosing her words very carefully, "You're not alone? Okay? And...this isn't forever - it won't always feel this bad."

He let out a breathy laugh, half hopeful relief, half skepticism. "You think so?" he asked, teasingly.

"I know so," Charlie said confidently, straightening up, "I don't pick weaksauce handmaids."

"Fair enough, your highness."

"Damn straight!" she said, sitting back, arms folded.

He nodded and looked down to his hands on his lap. They were still tender and blistered, but healing. Maybe he wasn't all broken - at least not all the way.

"...Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"..._how_?"

She looked taken aback, maybe a bit panicked, "What do you mean?"

"How?" he repeated, sitting up in his chair, "How am I supposed to do that? I've got about zero experience in successful emotional management and this one's fixing to be in the greatest hits. I can shove it down or take a swing at a tree but I dunno when that stops being suppressing or dealing or whatever and starts _fixing_ it."

He knew he probably looked crazy. Desperate, lost - and he was. He'd played this game with Dad, with Sam, with Cas before and he couldn't, _couldn't_ do it again. He didn't _want_ to do it again. He didn't want to drown in other peoples' mistakes, no matter how much he loved them. Not that he thought he was innocent in this whole thing - he knew better than that - but he wasn't going to sit here and pretend like it was still his responsibility to shut up and clean up everyone elses' mess.

Charlie looked mildly confused.

"I mean," Dean pushed on, throat working to find the right sounds, "I've been down this road before. And I don't want to lose myself again. When he - when Cas - came back...he wasn't right. And we knew it. But it was good to have him, you know. We both survived, bygones be bygones, all that...then he disappeared, again...and we both prayed, and I _prayed_ so damn hard. And then he comes back out of nowhere and he's still...just _off_. Turns out Heaven was screwing pretty bad with his head and he tried to kill me."

"What?"

Dean started slightly, and looked up to find Charlie giving him a look permeated with shock.

"He tried to _kill_ you?"

"Uh...yeah," Dean shifted. "We were trying to get to the angel table before the winged dicks could. Once we got in there...I dunno how, but they got into his hard wiring and it took - well he smashed my face in pretty good, broke my arm...but he pulled out of it in time."

"Oh," Charlie, "wow...okay - any clues as to how he pulled out?"

"Not really," Dean said, "he was beating me something fierce and I was trying to reach him- you know - talk to him and see if I could get through - I mean it _wasn't_ Cas. and I told him he was family, that I needed him...and he stopped..."

Charlie's head was tilted, her eye squinting. "And that's when he stopped?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dropped his angel blade, healed me up and hit the road. Said he had to protect the tablet."

"Okay, rewind," Charlie straightened up, "Dude's beating the crap out of you, but stops when you said you _needed_ him?"

"Yes," Dean answered slowly.

"Okay...there's your answer!" she exclaimed, "This isn't the first time this has happened to you...it's actually a disturbingly regular occurrence." her expression faded and she looked around, mouth moving slightly, as if solving a complicated math problem in her head.

"Sorry - what?"

She rolled her eyes, then focused them back on him, "People - your family, friends, whatever, overcoming possession, or, in this case, some pretty heavy reprogramming because they love you. It's not rocket science, Dean. People care."

Dean just stared at her.

She sighed, and sat forward, putting a hand on his knee, "You kinda wear your heart on your sleeve. Just because other people don't - your dad, Sam, Bobby, Castiel - doesn't mean they don't feel as deeply as you do, or love you just as much. Overcoming possession or reprogramming - that says a lot about the lengths people have gone, and _will_ go to keep you safe. Does that make sense?"

He nodded, slowly, "So what does this mean...in the whole scheme of everything. I mean I _know_ he cared...he...made it pretty clear right before he took off the last time, I mean - a few days ago, you know. But there was still a lot of stuff between us. I still hadn't forgiven him, much less figured out how to be in the same _room_ with him when we took off for the Hell-Trials finale, and..."

"He's not human, Dean," Charlie said uneasily, "yeah, he played the part pretty good. He had plenty on his plate, by the sound of it - wasn't really _there_, all the way...and that's just to do with the tablets and Heaven and crap - but as far as you go...he didn't _know_, probably, how to respond. Angel of the Lord, all that - there's a difference between useful and _needed_. Sounds like all he ever thought was that he was supposed to be the first."

"Yeah well he didn't understand either very well,"

Charlie stared at him, and for the first time Dean was a little scared of her. He'd stepped out of bounds, been unfair and her eyes weren't so innocent and warm anymore, but stern.

"Dean not everyone thinks like you do. Yeah, you've got the corner market on I-told-you-so's but that doesn't make you _right_ about _everything_ all the time. I'm not saying don't be angry or give yourself time, but blaming won't get you far. Everything looks black and white from where you're sitting but newsflash - relationships take _two_ people and chances are there's a ton of crap you don't know. Maybe _you_ weren't listening to what he was trying to say, either."

Dean nodded, his head bowing and he felt the sting in the corners of his eyes.

"How'm I supposed to do that, Charlie?" he asked. He felt like a child, "He's gone. and there's a mountain of shit and I only know the half of it...how do I deal with the half I know absolutely nothing about?"

"I don't know," Charlie said, "You can't force this. Maybe one day - and I'm not saying today or tomorrow I mean when you've cooled off enough to...you know step outside of your perspective...things might make more sense then."

When he didn't respond she continued, "There's not a deadline on this, you know. Nobody's sitting here with a timer waiting for any of this to be ok. So...so chill, okay? Give yourself more than a few days to process everything. Hate to tell you but a week's not going to cut it."

Dean sighed. The younger part of him wanted to tell Charlie where she could stick her psycho mumbo-jumbo, but the better part reminded him that he'd asked for it, and that she was probably right.

So he nodded, stood, and wiped a thumb gently across her face. She smiled up at him, a reassuring, sad kind of smile.

"I know."


	18. Slide

Chapter Title: Slide

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Each time he accidentally reached for his grace, or tried to flex his wings and found only empty space, he had to swallow down a wave of panic. So many times he'd think _by heaven what have I done?_

* * *

Castiel was left on his own for much of the time after that.

He understood that Dean needed Charlie there with him, and felt selfish wishing for more time with her, wanting to not be alone since it it was his fault that Dean was hurting anyway. Charlie was there often, probably too often, bringing food, and coffee, and taking him on walks before she would head back to Lebanon.

Castiel also couldn't repress his jealousy that she got to see him, as he watched the yellow car drive away.

He was healing nicely. His wounds scabbed over and on one of his mornings alone, he walked back to the hospital and got the stitches taken out, to his great relief. The rest of the hours he tried to fill. Charlie had given him a stack of dvds she deemed essential for his new human status, but he found the television was more distracting. And less likely to have a storyline that would send him spiralling into memories (and he'd never admit it, but the childs movie about the alien crashing landing in Hawaii moved him to tears).

But even with the tv on most of the time, the walks into the city, and the visits from Charlie, Castiel found himself too much in silence for his comfort. He tried to control his thoughts and far too bright and painful human emotions, but he was often unsuccessful.

Each time he accidentally reached for his grace, or tried to flex his wings and found only empty space, he had to swallow down a wave of panic. So many times he'd think _by heaven what have I done?_ So often would he come dangerously close to just breaking down and sobbing, mourning what he'd lost. The world was flat and large and small and confining, and gritty and loud but too silent. His mind was missing the endless songs and voices of his brothers and sisters, people were blank vessels with nothing underneath and he didn't know how to read their faces. Sometimes he'd just sit there and listen to the hum of the fridge. He ate, and slept and took his medicine, and was so painfully, undeniably human.

It, as Charlie had said, "sucked".


	19. Petrichor

Chapter Title: Petrichor

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: It was visceral, these emotions, these _feelings,_ breaking over him like a tsunami wave, like a summer storm, his body trembling like it was caught in the throes of a earthquake. Castiel cannot push his emotions down anymore.

* * *

The moment he broke, when it came, was very innocuous. Castiel almost thought it should have been more dramatic. After all, his life had been nothing but climactic moment after climactic moment, why should this be any different?

But it was. Because his life was no longer a string of apocalypses. It was human, and as such defined by small moments such as these.

Castiel had sat down on the side of the motel bed, after an afternoon walk alone, and some mash of food from a can, warmed in the room's microwave. He'd been thinking about watching a movie, he still had some from that first stack Charlie had given him, and he'd found the value in using the story to pass the time, as his pain became less, and he began to not need as much sleep. He was trying to decide which one, staring at the movies sitting on top of the television, when it struck him.

He was human.

He'd known, he'd thought, even mourned the fact before. But here it was, the truth, sneaking up on him. Castiel would never again fly, never listen to the songs of the other angels, or the world's unheard frequencies. He'd never heal someone again, nor be able to heal himself. He'd never see Heaven again (unless by some trick of the universe, he ended up there after he died) never see his brothers and sisters again, even those who'd hurt and despised him. He'd _never_ get to fix what he'd done in Heaven, as he'd so hoped to do while talking to Metatron. His mortal years both stretched before him, along with feeling impossibly brief, a blink in what used to be his life span. He had, what? Forty years left? _If_ he didn't get killed some other way.

All these thoughts and more whirled around his brain, and Castiel sucked in a breath, and then another, feeling overwhelmed. _This_ is what he'd chosen. This finite litany of eating, drinking, sleeping, hurting, and just living, and he didn't know what to do now, he was human human human, and somehow that was just a synonym for _stuck_ and the walls pressed down on him, these barriers of brick and plywood and plaster that never confined him before, but now were like bars, and he couldn't _couldn't_ breathe!

Castiel staggered upwards, stumbling over the the large sliding window the motel had always had, but he'd never noticed before, never needed before, and he shoved at the latch, willing the glass to move, but his shaking fingers couldn't unlock it, and suddenly he was sobbing, tears blurring his vision, his eyes itching and burning, and his nose running and his throat was thick in that way he'd been pressing back all week.

He gasped, and the window still wouldn't open, and he couldn't get it right, and he wanted to break the glass, but his fist was shaking too hard, and the glass only shimmered in the light of the lamp behind him, making this pathetic wobbly noise that sounded like his voice, behind the sobs, breaking and trying to tell himself to stop. It was visceral, these emotions, these _feelings,_ breaking over him like a tsunami wave, like a summer storm, his body trembling like it was caught in the throes of a earthquake. He breathed in shakily, and pressed his head against the window, glad suddenly that he couldn't break it, for the glass was _cool_, and grounded him, and he slowly...

_...slowly..._

Regained control.

Like the storms, his tears flowed, cleansing and dripping down his cheeks and off the tip of his nose, dribbling into his mouth, where he was still gasping, open mouthed. His head pounded in the wake, his throat was raw, and his eyes were still wet, but the tears slowly came to a stop. The shaking subsided.

He remained there, his head bowed, on his knees before the dirty window. If he opened his eyes, he could see the parking lot, the city beyond, the lights of the people, living their lives like they should. Safe, because of what he and the Winchesters had done.

Castiel felt like the dirt of a field after a strong rain, the grass still dripping, the petrichor prising into the air like a fine aura of hope for a new life. He was a newborn child, wet and bloody, screaming at the change, yearning for comfort. But, after this darkness had streamed out of him, after this self pity and guilt and despair, he looked out over the city, towards the east, where he knew that Dean and Sam's home was, where Dean was...and he felt a light growing. It wasn't his grace. That tainted, and broken thing he'd torn out of himself in Stull Cemetery was long gone, the last dregs of it having flowed out with his blood, and snot and tears.

No, but perhaps...a soul?

Something new, definitely.

Something...clean.

Castiel took a deep, trembling breath. And another. He swallowed, and lifted his hands to the window, pressing his body back until he could see the skyline. This was the world, this was humanity. Something that had always amazed and inspired him, something that, even with the gaps in his memories, the actions he could no longer remember, Naomi had not been able to rip out of him. It wasn't just Dean, as much as Castiel cared for him. This world he'd helped save. It was beautiful, still, and maybe here...he could be whole. For the first time.


	20. Ready

Chapter Title: Ready

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: He also almost wished they were going all the way to the bunker today. He realized that this was wearing on him. He was terrified, but he was nearing a time when he just wanted it to be over with. Wanted Dean to know, no matter what his reaction was. Wanted this endless _waiting_ to be over.

* * *

It was on the second time Charlie drove him to lunch, this time a sandwich place that asked him his choices for everything on the sandwich. Overwhelmed with whether he'd wanted Italian bread or Italian bread with cheese, or ham or turkey, he's gotten the same thing Charlie had gotten, and found it most satisfactory. Afterwards, Charlie had stopped again as they drove to refuel her car.

Castiel looked over at her fuel gauge, and sure enough it was nearing empty again.

"It seems inefficient for cars to run out of gas so quickly." Castiel noted, as Charlie grabbed her wallet and prepared to get out. Charlie laughed.

"They don't normally. I've just been driving a lot lately."

She got out, to do all those steps that were needed before you could get the gas in the car, and Castiel watched, thinking. He remembered how she'd said that the bunker was over three hours away from here. After over a week living as a human he had a better concept of hours than he'd had previously, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt at the trouble she was taking for him.

Later that day, while Charlie sat on his bed and worked on her computer (she explained that she was very useful to her job, but she had to some work remotely as she didn't want to get fired) Castiel slipped out with his new cell phone. The days were getting warmer as summer approached, and he picked a spot on the curb in the full sun to sit and dial.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Castiel."

It was similar to the first time he'd called Sam; a slight pause in shock, a quick intake of breath and then movement.

"Yeah, one sec."

Sam muffled the microphone, and spoke to who could only be Dean. Dean's voice, not understandable, but familiar in cadence, fell away as Sam moved to another room, presumably not to be overheard. Castiel, hearing Dean, felt a pain in his chest, but he shook himself quickly.

"Hi, Castiel," Sam said, once it was just his breath on the line. "How are you doing?"

His voice was warm and sounded stronger than he'd heard in a long time.

"I'm fine. And you, you're well?"

Sam chuckled. "Better than I ever remember, honestly."

"Good." Castiel replied, and then paused. "Are there motels closer to where you are?"

Sam was quiet for a minute.

"Uh, I'm sure there are some, yeah. Why do you ask?"

Castiel sat back, dropping his gaze to the concrete under his feet. There was an overabundance of litter in this parking lot.

"Charlie has had to fill up the gas tank in her car at least twice in the last week. I understand this is excessive."

"That's true, and it makes sense for you to be nearby..." Sam took a breath. "But, honestly Cas, if you want to be closer, you could just come here. Dean's doing a lot better, he'll come around-"

"Sam. Not yet." Castiel filled his human lungs and then exhaled. "I hope soon. I am adjusting to this. Taking it day by day as Charlie advised. But facing Dean after all this...seems an insurmountable barrier." Castiel's voice was soft, tired. He didn't know what else to say.

Quiet lengthened over the line. Castiel shifted, expected Sam to argue some more, but instead he heard a slight sigh.

"Cas...I know I can't know what you're going through with losing your grace...I can't know how you're feeling right now. But I _do_ know how it feels to not want to face him. I mean, I started the apocalypse, after months of hiding things and lying to Dean. He told exactly where all my crap would lead, and I did it anyway."

Castiel clutched the phone to his ear, barely breathing.

"After that, I didn't want to look at Dean, and know that at any minute he could be thinking 'I told you so'. But I realized...Dean never thinks that. He told us and told us, but he never wanted to be_right_...

"You and I, we broke a lot. Did a lot of shit we should have known better - but after everything the worst part is knowing that we'd broken Dean's faith in us. "

Castiel shuddered a little, feeling that same pain in his chest tighten further like a corkscrew.

"Yeah," He breathed, and closed his eyes. But Sam wasn't done.

"But it's not lost, Castiel, I promise you. It _can_ be rebuilt. It'll be hard, but it's worth it. Dean's worth it."

Castiel sucked in a breath, a bit shakily. He was right. Dean was.

By the next morning, Charlie was driving him and his meagre backpack of clothes random items towards Lebanon, and a new motel room. Castiel kept his bag on his lap, feeling more anxious the closer they got. But he also almost wished they were going all the way to the bunker today. He realized that this was wearing on him. He was terrified, but he was nearing a time when he just wanted it to be over with. Wanted Dean to know, no matter what his reaction was. Wanted this endless _waiting_ to be over.

Charlie glanced over at him as she drove, and turned down the music she was playing. She and Dean seemed to share a habit of blaring their favorites while driving.

"You okay?" She asked. Castiel nodded, looking ahead.

"I'm fine."

The thoughts he'd had as they drove kept coming back to him as they acquired two rooms, and moved their bags in. Castiel was tired of this, of asking Charlie to drive him around, and help him when she obviously had her own life to get back to, or Sam to keep lying to his brother, and the almost overwhelming guilt of knowing that Dean thought he was dead, was grieving him.

But it was more than just relieving guilt. He was beginning to feel settled into his human body. His wounds were healing, and his pains diminished. He was starting to think about the future, about what he wanted to do during these next forty years.

But he was stuck until he told Dean.

It wasn't until he set his coffee cup down on the new motel rooms table with a hard click of finality, that he realized he'd made his decision. Charlie, still engrossed in her work on her laptop while they drank the coffee, looked up at the sound, and then seemed to notice something in his face.

"You okay, Castiel?"

Castiel nodded, resolved.

"I'm ready, Charlie."

Charlie blinked. "Ready for what?" Then her eyes widened before he could respond. "Oh, you mean like, ready ready? Ready to tell Dean?"

A nod, and Castiel felt a tension grow in his shoulders. The fear and nerves he'd felt for days whenever he thought of seeing Dean again started up, and almost made him reconsider. But no, he'd decided.

"As I'll ever be, I suppose." He twisted the coffee cup around in his hands, the cardboard material making an odd scraping noise against the slide of the wood. Charlie looked shocked, and that made Castiel squint up at her.

"You look surprised."

"Well, no, I'm just...are you sure?"

Castiel looked at the cup in his hands, just one more sign of his new humanity. If he was going to live like this, he couldn't hide forever.

"I'm sure."

Charlie gave him a measured gaze, and then seemed to also come upon a decision.

"Okay. I'll call Sam, set up a time."

She went to get up, presumably going to call Sam right then, but Castiel reached out before she could stand, grabbing her hand in his.

"Charlie, I want to thank you. You didn't have to help me as much as you did. I've appreciated your companionship these past days."

Charlie looked surprised again, but in a better way, and she smiled at him widely.

"You're welcome, Castiel. Really, it was nothing." She said, squeezing his hand. Then her gaze softened further. "I was glad to do it, and it wasn't just for Dean and Sam either you know. You're a pretty great guy, yourself."

Castiel ducked his head, and Charlie pulled away. "I'm going to go call Sam now, kay?"  
He nodded, and she walked out to the parking lot, leaving him to his thoughts. Soon, tomorrow maybe, he'd seen Dean and finally get this tension off his chest. Maybe, once this was out, he could finally start ...whatever this human life of his would be.


	21. Set

Chapter Title: Set

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: It was ten days, almost to the hour, from the time she'd first met him when Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, set down his coffee, looked up seriously at Charlie and told her he was ready to tell Dean the truth.

* * *

It was ten days, almost to the hour, from the time she'd first met him when Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, set down his coffee, looked up seriously at Charlie and told her he was ready to tell Dean the truth.

If she had to keep herself from choking on her own drink, well, that was her own business.

Sure, the days passed leisurely enough when you were going on coffee runs and lunch dates with ex-angels. But then there was the driving almost four hours to hang out with two emotionally stunted brothers, one of whom you were in cahoots with to conceal the situation of the ex-angel and sure it felt like a million years sometimes and she wished she could just _tell_ them or even_someone_, but when you put it down on paper it had only been ten days.

And that didn't seem like a lot of time to mourn a whole section of yourself that had been ripped out, much less be ready to face Dean Winchester.

Yeahh...this would be interesting.

But if Castiel said he was ready she would trust him. Being eons older probably made you smarter, right?

So, she hit the speed dial for Sam (maybe she should be worried that she had both Winchesters on speed dial, but whatevs) and waited through the ringing.

"Hey Charlie,"

"Hey Sam, how're things in the batcave?"

"Good, good...Listen, Charlie I dunno what you said to Dean last time but he's been...thinking."

"Is that a new thing?" Charlie asked slowly.

"No I just mean usually he's all pop culture references and cooking and movies but he's been just...sitting. And sometimes he even has a notepad with him. His light stays on in his room after he's gone to bed and he's not playing music or anything. He doesn't seem massively depressed anymore, it's like he's..._thinking_."

"You know... it worries me a little bit that this is so shocking to you. But okay, he's your brother."

"What did you say to him?"

"Uhhh," Charlie fished around in her head. She said a lot of things to plenty of people and she'd stand by what she said but that doesn't mean she could _remember_ it. Life moved too fast to stop and catalogue. "I think...something about...when he was calm enough that he should try and look at it from Castiel's perspective...not that his feelings about it weren't legit or anything, but that if he tried to understand he might make progress."

"...shit."

"What?"

"Doesn't listen to me when I say things like that."

"Yeah well, Dean likes me better," she shrugged.

"I'm tempted to agree with that," Sam's voice was fond. "I like you better than him most days too."

"You guys really needed a woman in your life, huh?"

"Yeah, just so long as you're cool sticking around."

"Did Hermione ever leave Harry and Ron in the dust?"

"No she did not, probably should have, though." Sam chuckled.

"Well, that's a different conversation...which reminds me," her stomach clenched a little, "...why I called - Castiel says he's ready...to tell Dean."

Sam didn't respond for a few seconds.

"...Is he sure?"

"Seems to be, yeah."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"I guess," Charlie said. "I think he's at the same point as Dean - They've done as much as they reasonably can on their own and they're going to have to figure the rest out with each other."

"...That doesn't sound safe."

"Hey! Who was the one pushing to throw still-medicated ex-angel back at Dean who'd just barely let go of an axe! At least this is...well as consensual as it's going to get."

"God, Charlie way to make it sound like a hookup."

"You don't spend much time in the fandom part of the internet, do you Sam?"

"What?"

"Nevermind. How about we come to you tomorrow? We're not far"

"Okay."

"I don't think we should take Castiel inside...I doubt Dean will stick around long - and Cas will probably need a place to process after. So we'll just keep our rooms at the Inn and play it by ear."

Sam inhaled, and pushed the air out carefully.

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said. "Just...I'll call you when we're headed over. Try and get Dean outside...I just don't want to catch him unawares in his own house, you know?"

"Okay, I think he's been meaning to do some work on the Impala anyway. Tomorrow?"

"I was thinking late morning."

"Okay. I guess this is happening then," Sam said.

"I guess so. Ready, Set..." Charlie sighed.

"Good luck."

"You too, Sam. See you tomorrow."


	22. Go

Chapter Title: Go

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: "Dean?" Every nerve he had stood at attention and he froze. Maybe if he kept his face hidden and eyes closed he could pretend it was a hallucination and dammit he wished he was drunk right now.

* * *

"Dammit, Sam hold on!" Dean said gruffly, slipping the dipstick back into place and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. Sam was fidgeting and flailing like a scared animal - not that he saw but it he could hear the erratic footfalls and Sam was a fidgety bastard when he wasn't dying.

He pulled out from under Baby's hood and shut it before turning to his brother.

"Where's the fire?"

"Charlie's here," Sam said, swaying back and forth on the spot.

Dean glanced down the narrow road a ways and saw the little yellow Rabbit, then turned back to Sam, "And?"

Sam's eyes bulged a little and it struck Dean that Sam was trying awfully hard to contain himself.

"She's here."

"Yeah...has been for the better part of a week and a half..so...why are we getting hyperactive now? Am I supposed to run out in slow motion to say hello? Sam she's only been gone like a day."

Sam looked exasperated. "Just wash your damn hands."

"Why?"

"Because you don't want to get car oil everywhere."

"Okay..." Dean was pretty sure Sam was having a meltdown or something - too much salad.

Sam was looking anxiously down at Charlie's car. Dean glanced between the two of them. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah.. you know...just go wash your hands...she should be..."

"Be what?"

"Uhhm, ready to come out, soon..." Sam said, his voice oddly strained.

"Right. Why don't we just go inside and let her come to us when she's good and ready?"

"No I think we should be out here. But you should wash up."

Dean stared at him, "I changed the oil, Sam. I don't think that will bother her too much."

Sam fidgeted more, gave a short, annoyed breath, "Fine. Go wait inside if you want."

"Okay...you sure you're feelin' alright there, princess?"

"Shut up Dean."

Dean held his hands up in defense and then made his way back into the bunker. He didn't plan on doing any more work on Baby so he took a quick shower, got dressed and headed to the kitchen.

He was turning around, reading to take a big swig of milk out of the carton, when he caught sight of Sam and nearly choked trying not to spew milk all over him.

"Dammit, Sam," he coughed, putting the cap back on and shoving the milk back into the fridge. "What the hell is up with you today?"

"I need you to come outside," Sam looked nauseous.

Dean's annoyance faded instantly, replaced by concern, "Okay...where's Charlie, she not come in yet?"

"She's outside," Sam shook his head. "She wants you to come out."

"Is she okay...?"

"She's fine...just...come on."

Some feeling in the vicinity of _not right_ was beginning to stir inside him. Sam looked harassed and worried and Dean wasn't ready to see Sam anything but rosy and healthy as he drown himself in library books.

"Okay," Dean nodded, shrugging. Sam nodded curtly and lunged out of his seat, striding for the front door. Dean had to jog a little to keep up.

Once out, he looked around. Charlie wasn't there. "Uh, Sam? I don't see her."

He looked down the road again and saw her car. The driver's side door opened and the familiar shock of red hair popped out.

He was about to ask something sarcastic when Charlie's head ducked back in. It re-emerged and then the passenger side door opened.

It took only a moment to realize who that second figure was.

Dean's breath stopped and his throat closed, convulsing around...around what? He felt the pressure building at the tips of his nose and fingers and his mouth gaped and then the second figure was shutting the door, head bowed, turning slowly towards the bunker and finally raised his head.

Then he stopped. _Cas_.

Maybe Dean shook his head, maybe he stood still. His stomach roiled and he stared at Cas as Charlie put a steadying a hand on his back and they both started moving forward. Dean instinctively backed away and then big arms stopped him and he swung blindly, connecting with Sam's face.

"No!" he half-choked, half-shouted, gathering his wits long enough to see Sam, holding a bloody nose. Then he turned and stormed into the woods. He wasn't going to get himself cornered in the bunker and he wasn't going to get in the car and pretend he'd be able to drive past Cas and Charlie and not want to throw himself and the car over the edge of the road and _what the hell what the hell what the hell._

Sam's voice called after him and he tried to close his ears, moved forward swiftly over logs and leaves and plants he couldn't name but that snagged at his jeans. He didn't bother pushing branches out of his way and they scraped against his face and cut and he just kept going and going. A great big something was boiling and fighting and the pressure was building in his ears and he was going to -

He caught hold of a tree as he doubled over, retching at its base. His body heaved until there was nothing left and his eyes burned, hot, painful tears squeezing out and falling off the end of his nose.

He eventually stopped heaving, and with trembling hands wiped his mouth and tried to steady himself. He pressed his face into his sleeve, as if he could hide from...from _this_ and focused on pushing the air in and out of his shaking body.

_Cas_.

How the _hell_ was he back? What sort of shit had Sam pulled...unless...he thought back over the last week and a half, over the not-quite-right expressions and oddly worded advice and if he hadn't just blown chunks he might have then because _they knew_.

Cas had been alive this whole time and _they knew_.

_Everyone_ but Dean had known.

He bit his lip, hard. He'd bet his Baby that it had been Cas to put the gag order on the other two and he tasted blood.

"_shit_," he released his lip then sucked it back into keep the blood from dripping.

He didn't know what was happening. He was furious and confused and so damned _relieved_ but_Cas_...

He stayed like that - didn't know how long - with his eyes shut tightly in the crook of his elbow, making himself breath and pushing out the the air in an ever-steadying rhythm. He pushed out sensation, anything except the black pressing uncomfortably against his eyelids and the volume of his lungs.

"Dean?"

Every nerve he had stood at attention and he froze. Maybe if he kept his face hidden and eyes closed he could pretend it was a hallucination and dammit he wished he was drunk right now.

"Dean?" it was a little more pleading than the first time, a little more broken.

He couldn't turn around. He couldn't look at Cas and _give_ anymore. He was so full of everything having to do with Cas being _dead_ and he couldn't factor in _this_ and everything it meant and _dammit dammit dammit_.

So he breathed. In and out and in and out until he heard footsteps walking away and something inside him twisted with a painful, vindictive pleasure and a cruel voice sneered _Silent treatment doesn't feel so great, huh?..._.

Once he was sure that Cas was far away he stood up stiffly, blinking against the light and screwing his face up as he tried to loosen his body.

So, Cas was alive.

Sam and Charlie - whether of their own choice or Cas' instruction, hadn't told him.

They'd both watched him, hacking at trees and crying and had played shrink to his depression instead of just tell him the damn simple truth. Cas was alive.


	23. Frontline

Chapter Title: Frontline

Author: Arisprite, archi

Chapter Summary: Dean caught his gaze, as he'd _always_ done, and Castiel couldn't breath in again, because Dean looked so _shocked_, almost horrified. He stepped backwards, recoiling as Castiel moved. His face was white, and Castiel was sure his was too, because suddenly, he knew, he _knew_ this would not end well. Cas POV to archi's "Go"

* * *

Castiel's resolve lasted up until they were in sight of the bunker. The twenty minute drive from the motel to Dean's home didn't last nearly long enough, and by the time Charlie pulled to a stop on the gravel road, Castiel's stomach was knotting in anxiety.  
Turning the car off, Charlie turned to him, biting her lip.

"So, we're here." She said, glancing up at the bunker. They were a few yards away from the entrance, and all was still outside. "Sam knows we're coming. Do you want me to text him, say to come out, or just go up and knock, or …?" She trailed off watching him. Castiel hadn't moved.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

Castiel couldn't speak, and so simply shook his head. His chest was a tangle of emotions, feeling almost as bad as that night he'd broken down by the window. It was too much for him to categorize it with human words in a single language. She frowned, glancing up again, like she was afraid that Dean would just appear at any moment. He supposed he could.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Cause we could go back, try again later?"

Castiel took a breath. It would be so easy to say yes, he wasn't ready, he'd try again...but he was afraid he wouldn't. If he left now, he'd _leave_ and never return, just so he wouldn't have to feel this nervousness again. This was happening now.

"No." Castiel said, and unbuckled his seat. It felt like a big step.

Then, the clang of a door sounded, and two figures emerged from the underground bunker. First was Sam, tall and moving easily. Strong and healthy again. Castiel spared a burst of happiness from his roiling chest for that. And behind him was Dean. Dean, who had no idea what he was leaving his home to find, who would never expect this surprise. He looked fine, also moving normally. A little pale maybe, but perhaps he was just looking for evidence of what the other two had told him, that Dean wanted him back.

Castiel swallowed.

Charlie got out of the car first, and Castiel saw Dean's face brighten in greeting. For a second, he couldn't move, but then his fingers found the door handle and pushed the passenger side open as well. Charlie was there, ushering him on, murmuring gently to him, but he couldn't hear her. He slowly stood.

He could only look at the ground. Around him, all noise stopped, and he knew Dean had seen and recognized him. Bracing himself, he took a breath. Then he turned and lifted his head.

Dean caught his gaze, as he'd _always_ done, and Castiel couldn't breath in again, because Dean looked so _shocked_, almost horrified. He stepped backwards, recoiling as Castiel moved. His face was white, and Castiel was sure his was too, because suddenly, he knew, he _knew_ this would not end well.

Sam stepped forward, trying to console, to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder to ground and comfort him, as usually helped Dean so much. But Dean, gasped, wheeled around. His fist connected with Sam's nose, tearing a ragged gasp from Castiel's throat. _No, it wasn't Sam's fault, no, Dean don't._

"No!" Dean's voice was rasping, emotions breaking it's roughness. Castiel took a step forward, but Dean only broke away, running into the line of trees by the road, into the forest. He quickly disappeared, and took all of Castiel's hopes with him.

"Dean!" Sam called out, garbled by the blood dripping from his nose, but Dean didn't come back.

Castiel stood frozen, barely breathing. Not moving an inch.

"Damn it!" Sam startled him in his shout, kicking out at a pile of undergrowth. Charlie was wide eyed, jumping too at Sam's sudden movement. She kept looking at Castiel, and he felt his teeth grind together, his head bowing under the weight of her pity.

He started walking.

"Castiel?" Charlie asked, softly, like she was afraid of breaking him. "Where are you going?"

"After him." He said, and strode off into the trees. He heard Charlie make an aborted noise of protest, but he didn't turn back, and soon both she and Sam's voices fell away.

The woods were quiet, but it was obvious that it had been frequented lately. There was a small path trodden through the undergrowth and Castiel started down it carefully. He was wary of what he'd find. That Dean was upset was an understatement, but he hoped if he could just explain...

He sighed, and kept walking.

Slight noises filtered through the trees after a time, muffled sounds a man in distress, anguished choking, sobbing...noises he recognized from his own throat but had never heard from Dean. It was far away, and scattered, but still twisted his heart.

"Dean..." Castiel breathed, stepping faster. The noises led him in the vague direction, but it was still over ten minutes later that he finally saw the hunched shape of Dean's back, leaning heavily against a tree. His eyes were hidden in the crook of his arm, and his shoulders were tense and trembling. He was quiet now.

Castiel stepped closer, purposely crackling twigs with his tennis shoes.

"Dean?" He said, wanting nothing more than Dean to turn, to see his face again, to explain himself and get this over with. Instead, Dean's back seized up, and he dug his face deeper into his elbow. A moment passed.

"Dean..." He knew his voice was weak, pleading, begging for a glance. But Dean didn't respond, ignoring his words, his presence, his very existence. Castiel knew then that Dean wouldn't answer, wouldn't even turn to look at him.

Slowly, with minute tremors running along his body, Castiel turned away from Dean, left him there, and walked off.

Not towards the road again, he could just imagine Sam and Charlie's looks, pricking his skin and setting his teeth on edge with their saccharine pity. He strode through the trees, not sticking the any set path anymore, he didn't want to walk where Dean had walked. His breathing became more and more erratic, gusting out of him.

What was he supposed to do now? He'd come, he'd revealed the truth, and Dean refused to even_look_ at him. He'd _sacrificed_ everything for that man, and he wasn't even granted an acknowledgement!

Castiel ground his teeth, nearly growling as he walked, then jogged, and then sprinted, crashing through the bushes, and dodging trees at the last minute, almost hoping he'd hit one, get struck down by an errant branch, or tripped by a root, but his feet never faltered. Not until he ducked around one more tree and came to a clearing.

It was in ruins. The ground was covered in splinters, the hacked up insides of the surrounding trees, shining white against the bark and dirt. Fragments of wood and branches hung in shards from the sides of the clearing, and stuck in the ground like solemn grave markers. Some of the shorter, smaller, weaker trees were in actual pieces, laying along the ground like dead soldiers. It was a battlefield, a war ground, and the ghosts of the dead shimmered above this place like a shroud.

Looking around at the devastation, Castiel suddenly knew, _knew_ that Dean had done this. Dean had swung an axe into tree after tree, the wood flying at each impact, the trees taking each mortal wound with no comment.

They'd told him Dean was mourning. Here was the evidence.

"Oh, Dean..." Castiel breathed, still looking around. "What did I do to you?"

He was silent and shattered feeling by the time he emerged from the forest. Sam and Charlie were still there, waiting. To his sadness, Charlie was curled under Sam's arm, and wiping away a stream of tears. He went to her, and she detached herself from Sam and folder herself into his arms without hesitation. It was the first time she'd hugged him, but his arms came up to encircled her automatically.

"I'm sorry," Charlie whispered. Castiel could not respond, and after a moment, she nodded against his chest and pulled away. "We should go."

Sam glanced back at the bunker, blood still smeared under his nose. Castiel guessed Dean had come back while he'd been out there, and was now inside. He hunched his shoulders and turned his back on the place, nodding slightly.

Charlie led him gently back to the car, still acting like he could break, but it didn't make him mad this time. After seeing the devastation in the woods, he just felt tired. Done.

"We'll try again, Castiel. " Charlie said, as they drove off. Her voice was still rough with crying. "Dean just needs some time. We'll come back and try again."

Castiel said nothing to that. He couldn't. But at the tremor in her voice, he turned his head.

"Are you alright? Did Dean say something?"  
Charlie glanced over, startled, and then made an effort to wipe her face. "I'm okay, Castiel."

Castiel squinted at her. "_Did_ he say anything to you?" He was well acquainted with the furor of Dean's anger, and he suddenly felt rage of that same intensity at anyone who would direct such a thing to Charlie.

Charlie was shaking her head. "No, honestly. He barely said anything. Just went inside."

Castiel moved his eyes back to the road, watching as the trees gave way to buildings as the town approached.

"It'll be okay, Cas. We'll try again."

So she'd said before, but honestly, Castiel wanted nothing more than open air a million miles again, and to never hear the name Dean Winchester again.


	24. Quiet

Chapter Title: Quiet

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: "Are you ok?" Sam asked carefully. Dean laughed humorlessly, "Not a bit Sam." "So you're making sandwiches?" "It's lunchtime and I'm hungry," Dean shrugged, "What do you expect?" Sam POV to aftermath.

* * *

It hadn't gone well. The fresh bruising and traces of smeared blood around his nose could tell you that. Charlie ushering a sorrowful looking Castiel into the passenger side of her car could tell you just as well.

Sam had stood with Charlie at the edge of the wood, listening intently for any sounds of movement, or yelling, or anything, really. Sam didn't know _why_ Castiel thought it was a good idea to follow Dean into the woods alone but frankly it was out of his hands now.

Dean had returned before Cas had, glaring at the both of them, held up his hand and said simply, "Not yet, Sammy. Sorry Charlie," before walking into the bunker.

He wasn't surprised.

After a few more minutes of just standing there, waiting for Castiel to reappear, he heard little snuffling noises to his side. Looking down he found Charlie, face scrunched and crying quietly.

He put an arm around her and she made a jerky no-I'm-not-fine-but-don't-worry-about-it sort of movement before tucking into his side.

It was another while until Cas reappeared, looking overwhelmed and devastated. Charlie untucked herself from Sam and gave Castiel a long hug, before leading him gently back to the car. Sam watched it disappear, a heaviness settling over him.

He didn't know if Dean would shut himself in his room for another two days. He didn't know if there would be yelling, if Dean would ignore him or just...he sighed. There really was no point speculating about what Dean _might_ do when he could just go inside and deal with it.

To his surprise, Dean was in the kitchen.

Making sandwiches.

Sam stopped in the doorway, watching Dean move around. His shoulders were relaxed as he chopped lettuce and cucumbers and peppers and he wasn't being especially forceful - nor was it that calculated calmness that had defined the first few days after losing Cas...

"I know you're there, Sammy. You're like the least stealthy person on this planet," His voice may have been a bit gruff, but didn't sound angry. Exasperated, maybe, but not angry.

"Dean?"

"I'm making sandwiches. Turns out your salad dressing crap is good for something after all - put it in along with the mayo and mustard and I think it'll shape up decently."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond.

Dean was supposed to be throwing punches about now.

But he wasn't.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked carefully.

Dean laughed humorlessly, "Not a bit Sam."

"So you're making sandwiches?"

"It's lunchtime and I'm hungry," Dean shrugged, "What do you expect?"

"I dunno...yelling? A few more good hits? Locking yourself in your room?There's plenty of options apart from sandwiches..."

"Yeah well, I figure Cas put the gag order on, yeah?"

"He asked us not to tell you," Sam confirmed stiffly.

"Okay," Dean shrugged again, "That's his business then. You followed through on your end and I guess I can't be mad at you for that. Hurts like hell, don't get me wrong - I'd love to take a swing or two, but it's not really you I wanna beat up. Or Charlie. She okay?"

"She will be. We all have a first time."

"For?"

"Feeling like we let you down. And I think she and Cas got on well...can't have been easy to see either of you like that."

"She didn't let me down," Dean said, quietly. "Same as you, she kept her word and I'm guessing she spent time with Cas when she wasn't here. When did you know?"

"He called me the day after..."

Dean stiffened slightly. "So...the whole time then?"

"Yeah. I was going to tell you right then, I swear Dean, but Cas-"

Dean put his hand up, "You don't have to...just don't, okay?...so...what do you know?"

Sam sighed heavily, sat himself down and folded his hands, "He called me from the hospital. Didn't remember landing - like he _fell_. Literally - not just figuratively. I called Charlie after and that's when she came this way - met him at the motel I set up for him, shopped for clothes and groceries, helped him pick up his meds and..."

He would have continued, trying to make up for _not_ telling Dean so much, but Dean's face had fallen and it wasn't angry or hurt just now- it was _sad_...

"...Dean?"

His big brother sniffed and turned away, voice a little more gruff, "I shoulda been there to help - I mean we owe Charlie big time, and I'm grateful, don't get me wrong...I mean did he really think I was gonna be mad at him for _surviving_?"

"I don't know why, Dean...he's been pretty tight-lipped about it but it's not like you guys were on the best of terms...and he's _human_ now, like...not a shred of healing or time travel or flying or jack...He needed to adjust to that too."

Dean didn't respond, but Sam could see the precision seep back into his movements, the unspoken questions, _Why couldn't I take care of him? Why couldn't he trust me? Why wasn't I allowed to be there for him?_

And Sam didn't really know those answers. So they didn't talk as Dean finished the sandwiches and placed one on a plate in front of him, or as Dean took his own seat and began in on his own.

In fact, they didn't talk much the rest of the night.


	25. Sorry

Chapter Title: Sorry

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: He let out a shallow, shuddering breath, pulling himself from the forest. There had been Charlie, curled up in Sam's side and he hadn't been able to _look_ at her and he wasn't even angry with her but somehow his action or inaction or running or whatever he did _hurt_ Charlie too and he bit his lip, then reached down for his phone

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of his bed. It had been a quiet evening and it was early to be turning in but what else was he supposed to do?

He'd managed to turn a deaf ear to the memories that threatened whenever he sat like this - where he'd always prayed to Cas before. He took the time now to look around. The shadows fell from his weapons onto the wall in a familiar way - a way he'd looked at, not really seeing while he asked over and over if Cas was listening.

Now he hadn't sat like this since that night if he could help it, but he'd be lying if he claimed that he never once in the last week and a half prayed to Cas. Because he had. And maybe the words had never made it from his lips but there had been a steady prayer, weaving in and out of his thoughts as they'd calmed, from the part of him that couldn't quite grasp this reality - well, this lie - asking for forgiveness, pleading with him to come back, cursing him for leaving, telling Cas about the stupid things Sam did, anything really.

But he'd felt empty inside. A great unknowable, unsurpassable _nothing_ where Cas should be. Now...he felt his heart beating and the knowledge that Cas was wherever Charlie had taken him...he_was_ and had a beating heart too and something about that knowledge burned in his chest and he didn't know if it was good or bad.

But another corner of his body twisted with fear. Fear that they'd fall apart, like they had, over and over and over again, because if Cas's death had been hard the first or second or third or fourth time then watching him walk away from Dean's life by choice, simply because he didn't want to be there...well for some reason that hurt a hell of a lot worse.

He could rage that Cas had left him, but he'd left to sacrifice himself to save the world, and Dean's insides clenched in another fit of guilt because somehow that was easier than the knowledge that without anything tearing them apart, Cas might just...leave. Leave like he did, over and over and over again and he didn't have the room to berate himself for being childish because deep down he was just scared.

And yeah, it was frosted over with alternating layers of frustration, sadness, hurt, you name it, but mostly just fear that Cas wouldn't want to waste his time with Dean.

Hey lay back on his bed, closing his eyes. In his panic - in the initial shock after seeing Cas...he'd just _reacted_. Hadn't thought or reasoned, just ran.

Cas hadn't looked much like himself- not his usual self, anyway. Perhaps the tan trench had finally given up, because Cas had been in jeans and a hoodie and Chuck Taylors. His hair, ruffled and clearly having lost a fight with whatever flat motel pillow he was probably using.

But as much as he screwed up his eyes, he couldn't place the expression on Cas' face. Granted he'd been a ways away, and hadn't exactly stuck around. Dean breathed in deeply, taking himself back to the wood, straining his ears for the exact tone that Cas had spoken in, as if that might impart something of Cas' motives, answer the questions that Dean was afraid to voice.

_Dean._

_Dean._

He let out a shallow, shuddering breath, pulling himself from the forest. There had been Charlie, curled up in Sam's side and he hadn't been able to _look_ at her and he wasn't even angry with her but somehow his action or inaction or running or whatever he did _hurt_ Charlie too and he bit his lip, then reached down for his phone.

A few moments later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, pushing his thumb and index finger across his brow and listening to Charlie's _I'm walking on sunshine_ ringback tone.

"Dean?"

"Hey...Charlie," Suddenly he was sure this was a terrible idea.

A moment's pause, before, "Dean I'm so sorry - I mean I'm not _sorry_ sorry, but at the same time I am because I knew it would be - well, Castiel seriously needed time and I'll stand by that but I'm really really sorry because I knew it was hard and I watched you grieving and wanted to fix it somehow but I couldn't do _both_, you know and Sam asked me to watch over Cas and I tried, like, really hard, Dean to be there for him and help him recover, and...I'm just...sorry that we couldn't find a better way to bring him to you...Dean?"

He had to clear his throat, head bowed and blinking hard, "Here, sorry..."

"...are you alright?...Wow, okay, sorry - dumb question. _Really_ dumb question," she sounded horrified and Dean almost laughed.

"It's okay," Dean assured, "I just...I didn't react well, I know that, and I'm sorry that I couldn't...I dunno. I was short with you, and I'm sorry. I know it wasn't your idea."

"I did sort of lie to you for a week and a half," said Charlie timidly, "I was just surprised there wasn't, you know, more..."

Dean laughed, "Sam thought so too."

There was another, nervous pause before Charlie's voice sounded again, quiet, but firm, "I know it sucked, like _majorly_...but I'd do the same again. Castiel wasn't in good shape, Dean...and I think you're angry because you could have helped, but Castiel really needed to do it himself. And you said yourself, there was - is - a ton of crap between you still. I mean I didn't need to be told to understand that, it reads loud and clear. If he'd come to you it just would have got swept under the rug, again. And you would have had the same fights, again and now...you guys can start over, deal with this crap and move on. You both had some time to grieve and refocus and I can't imagine how it must hurt but..." she trailed off.

He nodded, then remembered she couldn't see him. "Yeah...okay. Not sure I see it like that but I'll think about it - I mean, I didn't call to have you defend yourself, honestly Charlie, I'm not asking. It's Cas that asked you not to tell and I'll take it up with him. And I'm grateful to you, for being willing and there for us like that. I just...wanted to say sorry for this afternoon. Sam's used to me being an ass, but I didn't mean to be like that to you too."

"It's nothing, really, Dean," Charlie.

Dean nodded again, feeling slightly better.

"Is there anything I can do?" Charlie asked timidly.

"Naw, you're good. Seriously, Charlie...don't get me wrong I'm all turned around," his vocal cords constricted and he cleared his throat, "...but you're good."

"Oh, okay."

"Thanks for taking care of him. God knows he's an awful patient."

"I dunno, I kinda like him grumpy," there was a smile in her voice and Dean could recall the gentleness that he'd seen in the few seconds of interaction he'd witnessed between them before he'd gone haywire and felt a little warmer.

"But seriously, Charlie. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Dean...see you later?" she sounded nervous again.

"Absolutely," he said, pushing as much warmth into his voice as he could, then hesitating "I guess we'll just...we'll see. Love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Dean."


	26. HGismyHomegirl

Chapter Title: HGismyHomegirl

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: It's not like Charlie can actually _tell_ anyone what she's been up to over the last week and a half. Well, not outright, anyway. Covers Charlie's involvement with the whole fiasco from beginning to the day AFTER "Go"/"Frontline"/"Quiet" and "Sorry" So really, _really_ vague spoilers.

(archi's notes are at the end of this chapter)

* * *

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 17  
Taking a few personal days. Peace out, bitches! _#queenonleave_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 18  
The pharmaceutical system in this country could use a serious reboot. Lines are the worst._#don'tworry #nothereforme!_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 19  
Plant a tree for our lost earth friends.

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 19  
Coffee and chocolate will win anyone over. Props to ** Starbucks** _#we'regoingtoneedit_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 20  
How to make a few days feel like a week _#storyofmylife_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 21  
Giving my imaginary degree in psychological counselling a good workout _#men_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 23  
Telecommuting. _#hellopajamas_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 26  
Thanks for the concern all! My friend is doing much better. Getting his sea legs ;)

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 28  
Ug, why do I feel like I'm making battle plans outside of Moondoor?

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 29  
video games, for when all else fails _#frienddrama_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 29  
"This is my family. I found it all on my own It is little, and broken, but good, yeah, still good."_#crossedfingers #needmoreestrogen_

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 30  
Not sure what today's going to bring. Wish me luck, bitches.

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 30  
I need therapy. Or a drink. Stat. _#toomuchtestosterone #soconfused #howisthishelping?_

**S. Wesson** May 30  
** HGismyHomegirl** Amen.

**Charlie Bradbury** HGismyHomegirl May 30  
My car in five? _#drinks #notherapytoday_

**S. Wesson** May 30  
** HGismyHomegirl** after you, your highness.

* * *

Notes: Hey guys! We know things are ramping up, but I think we could use (ok, we as the writers NEED) a little comic relief (i.e. the next chapter may or may not be _slightly_intense and I apologize to your therapists in advance) But seriously, thank you for everyone that clicked on this story, left kudos or commented. It means a lot to get your feedback and, you know, emote with you guys. And by emote I mean doggy-paddle in midair while hyperventilating on the couch.


	27. Incessant

Chapter Title: Incessant

Author: Arisprite

Chapter Summary: Now, it was the middle of the night, he could still feel the drugs in his system, and Dean was calling him.

* * *

Castiel woke to his phone beeping. Incessantly.

Growling, Castiel rolled over and dug his hand into the front pocket of his bag, hit some buttons at random and managed to silence the damn thing without opening his eyes. He fell back into an uneasy sleep.

It started to ring a few minutes later, jolting him out of the uneasy dreams he'd fallen into.

He flipped over again, supported on his elbows, with the covers pulled up to his neck, and stared at the bedspread, where his phone was lit up once more, innocently.

"Wha..?"

Thinking it could be Charlie, thought she was staying in the next room over, he picked it up, and blinked at it with gummy eyes.

**Dean Winchester**, the caller ID said.

Castiel slammed the phone on the wood, the shock rushing through his whole body.

He didn't answer it. It was dark in the room, just after midnight, but he'd been dead on his feet by the time they got home. Dinner was a picked at daze, and then Charlie had left him alone, and Castiel quickly realized he didn't want to think. Digging deep into the pocket of his bag, he pulled out the half full bottle of pain medication. He hadn't needed as many as he'd been prescribed...but they'd made him sleep. And that was all he wanted. He took two, and fell back into his bed, leaving his bag beside him. He'd fallen asleep quickly.

Now, it was the middle of the night, he could still feel the drugs in his system, and Dean was calling him.

The phone went dark after another two rings, and Castiel squinted as he pressed the button to light up the screen again. Two  
missed calls. Dean had called him _twice_.

Castiel took the phone and stuffed it under the pillow on the other side of the bed. Then he turned around, and dug his face in his own pillow, and slid back into darkness.

The morning sun was too bright. Castiel groaned as he tugged the covers over his head. He thought motels were supposed to have covered windows, but this motel was apparently deficient in that area, and the sun was streaming in, and hitting the exact spot his face had been in. He felt hung over, even though he hadn't really had any alcohol since he was an angel, but his head was wobbling with a headache, and his mouth felt dusty.

He dragged his body into a crouch, draggin the bed covers over his hunched shoulders, and stretched like a cat, yawning hugely. Rubbing at his headache, and feeling his hair standing on end, he thought perhaps a shower was in order. He didn't feel even slightly human, let alone the fallen angel he was.

As he pulled his legs off the bed, the pillow on the other side of the bed began to ring. He turned, and vaguely remembered his phone ringing last night, and trying to muffle it under the pillow. He took it out, and blinked as the phone lit up again.  
It was Dean. Again. He'd called twice last night, and as the current call came to an end (he didn't answer it) other notices began to pop up, causing it to beep and vibrate almost frantically.

Fourteen missed calls. Seven voicemails. And one text from Sam, that just read _Sorry_.

Castiel put his head into his hands, covering his eyes. This was too much, he'd wanted Dean to turn around, not nag him all night. Which apparently he'd done, as the first few calls were in the early hours of the morning, up until now...he glanced at the clock, almost lunch time. He frowned. And then rubbed at his head some more.

He couldn't do this right now. He needed a shower, and some food. Desperately needed some water. He wanted some more pain medicine. (It was with a tiny bit of regret that he decided to have the ibuprofen, and not his precription stuff). What he _didn't_ need was Dean's voice in his ear. Not now.

Later, after drowning out his thoughts with pounding too hot water, and eating some of the food he still had from Charlie's grocery runs (some pastries that were supposed to be put in a toaster, but that he liked better cold and crunchy) he took his phone and pressed the buttons to get to the voicemail. Then he sat, and braced himself.

"Hey, Cas. Sam gave me this number. I...uh...I know I didn't react..._well_ today. I'm sorry."

"Hey Cas. I know you're not going to answer, but I'm used to white noise on the other end...just good to know that technically this does get to you, even if you don't listen."

"Listen, Cas. You do realize it was kind of an asshole move to show up out of nowhere, when _I thought you were dead_ and expect me to be all smiles and would-you-like-some-tea, right? You do get that? Look, give me a second to adjust."

"This would all go over a lot better if you'd just call. Don't even call. Just come over, man. I know I was the one that ran but that doesn't mean I don't want to fix this."

"I'm sorry I didn't turn around yesterday. I know it probably took a lot to come."

"Cas, this is ridiculous. Just get your ass over here."

"You son of a b-"

Castiel closed the phone.


	28. Need

Chapter Title: Need

Author: archi, Arisprite

Chapter Summary: A split second of stillness, until Cas' face contorted, all the anger spilling over his features and into his body then Cas shoved himself into Dean, knocking them both to the ground. Dean grunted as his back hit the ground, hard, sharp pebbles and errant twigs stabbing into his back, but he wrestled back. He couldn't stop pushing, couldn't let Cas lose his momentum.

* * *

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't eat or focus on anything except Charlie's promise that she'd get Cas to the bunker.

It wasn't until late afternoon that his phone buzzed, a quick text saying that Charlie was on her way with Cas, but not to get his hopes up.

Dean cocked an eyebrow ruefully at the text. He wondered what exactly Charlie had in mind when she imagined he and Cas sorting out their issues. Whatever happened, it was likely to make her scenario look like a tea party.

Cas wouldn't say anything of value when he was calm, collected - when he had the presence of mind to put on a mask and answer in clipped, polite, responses.

No, it would have to be messy.

Dean spent the twenty intervening minutes outside, sitting on Baby's hood and trying to collect himself, wishing he could just have a damn beer. A slow, burning pressure had gathered in his chest and behind his ears and he didn't like this. Not at all. He was centering himself like he did before a hunt, before a fight. He shook his head and breathed deeply, trying to keep his defenses down. Nothing was going to get resolved if he was guarded.

In and out, he lost himself in the rhythm, staring at the cut-out shapes of branches against the afternoon sky. He pulled his lips in and let the lower one out slowly through his teeth. His lungs felt too small and the fringes of his concentration were dipped in weariness.

He worked his lip between his teeth again, _Cas. Cas is alive. You wanted so damn bad to fix it, well here he is. Fix it._

He heard the whirring of a small engine down the road and took another fortifying breath, then turned. Sure enough, the yellow Rabbit was there, the front lights blinking off and the passenger door opening.

Cas...

He didn't look happy...the coward in Dean began to question the intellectual integrity of his plan as Cas closed the door and walked resolutely toward him. A little _too_ resolutely, actually. His gaze was steady but his eyes were underlined with bags and and he didn't look like he'd fully woken up yet - tired _and_ pissed. Marvelous.

Cas met his gaze and Dean focused on not reacting - on keeping his features relaxed and unmoving. His posture was easy and open, shoulders back, feet planted but not defensively...Cas' eyes narrowed and something like fear curled in Dean's veins and made his fingers itch. He felt naked without his usual arsenal, strapped and tucked against him reassuringly, but he had to be unarmed, had to poke and prod with words to get the responses he needed - the ones Cas needed to stop hiding.

It was an awkward distance from the car, but Cas didn't seem to mind, focusing on Dean and maybe it was awkward because it was taking too long but at the same time Cas got bigger and bigger too quickly, striding with surety while Charlie half-jogged behind him.

When they were close enough that Dean knew they could see his face, he winked at Charlie, smirked at Cas, and threw out a lazy, "Howdy," to fill the space between them.

"You are infuriating," Cas said, his voice gruff and clipped.

"Well hello to you too. How are you, Charlie?"

She stared at him like he was insane, fingers twisting around the strap of her bag, "I'm, uh...good, I guess...?"

"Why don't you go inside - there should be some leftover lunch and it was pretty damn good if I do say so myself."

"I...uh...are you sure?" She looked between him and Cas, as if waiting for the latter to give other instruction. When none was offered she inhaled, looked around, "Okay...I guess. I'll be inside...if you need me..." she ducked between them, then nearly tripped over her own feet glancing back at them. Dean just smiled until she had latched the bunker door, and then he turned to Cas again - who, it seemed, felt like having a staring contest.

"Hey Cas," he threw on a shit-eating-grin. Cas didn't look overly amused.

"Why are you doing this?"

Everything in Dean ached to be honest - to just _say_ everything he'd come to realize, to hug the stupid bastard and pretend like they hadn't gutted each other time and time again. But Cas wouldn't listen when he was like this and he wouldn't have come unless he felt like he had no other choice.

Cas couldn't hear him right now - he had his walls up ten miles high and Dean had to make him come out - get him riled up enough to...well. He just prayed he was right about this.

"Someone had to light the fire under your ass," he said smoothly, "I know how you work - If at first you don't succeed - go hide under a rock because it's easier, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Cas' eyes narrowed but he shifted, fingers twitching. A bit more color seeped into his face and Dean had to suppress a smirk.

"I'm talking about you beaming up when you don't want to deal with shit." Cas' gaze dropped for a moment and Dean raised his arms to either side. He was posturing and it felt ridiculous, but he pushed as much belligerence into his voice as he could, "Look, I'm sorry I wasn't waiting in the kitchen with dinner cooked but you were _dead_. I _lost_ you and you expected me to be fine - like that?" he snapped his fingers and Cas flinched, "I know humanity is new to you, but c'mon, Cas. That's just vain..."

Cas' nostrils flared and his legs jolted, like he wanted to advance but stopped himself. "I wasn't expecting a welcome, but you didn't even _look at me, Dean," he spat._

"Yeah and you popped out of friggin' _Purgatory_ into my _bathroom_ with a _'Hello, Dean_'" he imitated Cas' gruff voice mockingly, "I guess neither of us are very suave, so what are you gonna do about it? Just run the first time it doesn't go your way, right? Real mature."

Cas turned abruptly and started walking. Dean was about to follow when Cas changed direction back towards Dean, staring at the ground, until, fists clenched, he came up to Dean and stopped. They stared at one another for a few moments, Dean glanced down to Cas' fists, then back to his face. His jaw worked over words he couldn't seem to get out, when his expression fell, and he shrugged "I don't know what to do here, Dean. I don't know what you want from me. I nearly _died_. I_fell_. I've lost everything I am, and you're acting like I did it to personally offend you."

Ohh, there was that anger back again. Dean focused on it, wet his lips and pushed the urge to comfort, to explain, down and rolled his eyes.

"I've been telling you, man. I've come out and said it clear as a bell and you can't hear a damn word over your own self-righteousness!" he pushed into Cas' personal space and watched his nostrils flare again, "I don't want your angel crap, or your help - I just want you to stick around and stop this whole dropping in when it's convenient for you shit!"

"When it's convenient?" Cas laughed, bitter and scoffing and a thrill of fear ran through Deab. "I fought to be by your side in when the war in Heaven was tearing _my_ family apart. I listened to your prayers in Purgatory, but I _had_ to stay clear to keep you safe. Don't you think I wanted to stay? And you should have known better - once I joined you the Leviathan were after us constantly - it was common sense, Dean! I was trying to protect you!" his features were twitching, and then his eyes flew open wide, pained, then angry, his voice rising to a yell, "Naomi was _in my head_, Dean, and she still had to _tear_ me from you. So don't you _dare_ presume to say that!"

Dean didn't have to pretend to be angry now, "So tell us, dammit! Tell me so I'm not walking around wondering if you're dead, sending up prayers when I've got no clue if you're listening or even _alive_!"

Cas turned around, but Dean wasn't going to give up easily. He walked around Cas until he could grab the front of his sweatshirt and tugged it. Cas didn't fight back and allowed himself to turn, meeting Dean's searching gaze with his own, angry and helpless and confused, "I always listened Dean. Even when I was with Naomi, I heard you."

"So why didn't you come?" Dean spat.

"Were you not listening, Dean?" Cas' voice rose again, "I was a prisoner, being tortured, and reprogrammed and having my mind _ripped_ into - forced to do things -" His jaw jutted out and he was breathing heavily, "...I had to _kill_ you, Dean!"

Dean snorted, "Yeah I remember that part, Cas. Good times."

"No, Dean. That was only the last time - the _only_ time - I managed to stop myself."

Cas was deflating and a panic curled at Dean's stomach. Cas wasn't done. Couldn't be anywhere near done. He stomped down his concern and raised an eyebrow, keeping his voice dry.

"Is this 50 First Dates or what? Because I have no clue what the hell you're talking about."

Cas' gaze shot to him, sharp and wild, "A thousand times, I _slaughtered_ you."

Dean was taken aback, but Cas didn't need goading to continue; "Naomi made facsimiles of you and sent me after them, and each time, I killed them, Dean. Every single one. Over and over and over again until I didn't even _think_ anymore. I didn't _hesitate_." his voice was dangerous and rising, but Dean held his ground, trying to simultaneously process this new information and figure out how to keep Cas talking, "I _killed_ you, again and again, and I will never stop seeing your blood on my blade, Dean. Never!"

Dean fought the urge to step back, to put his hands on his knees and double over and breath until his heart rate went down. But he stood his ground, cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Never? Really? Join the club." Cas looked floored. Clearly he'd expected his announcement to have more of an effect, and oh, it had. But Dean stared at him and continued, voice dry.

"I know how to kill and how to hurt in every way - Except I didn't have as pretty of an excuse as you - nobody screwing with my head, just me and Alistair and the rack and _real_ victims. You think I don't remember? I do. I still have the nightmares and I still hear the screams but when some sadistic power gives you another chance - _whether you want it or not_ - life goes on."

Cas was looking away and Dean grabbed the front of the hoodie again, yanking at it. Cas glared at him, "You don't let it stop you from living especially when I'm _right here_." He cursed himself mentally - he'd meant to goad, to mock, but the instinct to reassure was hard wired and difficult to ignore.

"You weren't yesterday," Cas said evenly, bitterly.

So Dean grabbed another fist of hoodie and shoved.

"What the hell is so hard for you to understand about this? You. Were. _Dead_." He advanced to where Cas had staggered back, pushing right up into Cas' face and relinquishing control over his own expression, "I _mourned_ you. Cried like a little _shit_ and prayed even though the line was disconnected and sat down and tried to think what the hell to do with myself - what was I supposed to do, Cas? ...What was I supposed to do?"

Cas had swiped at his hands and staggered back like a scared animal.

"I don't know," he said, gasping slightly, "I'm sorry. I woke up in that hospital, and I just...couldn't face it."

"What, Cas? Face what?" Dean's throat was constricting because dammit he wanted this answer, badly. "Me?"

Cas threw his arms out wildly, "Everything! This new human life that I now have to live. I was hurting, I was powerless, and just so much... _less_ than I'd ever been, and then I think about you, and how I'd left you _again_, and I just couldn't face it, Dean. I couldn't."

Hot tears pricked at Dean's eyes and he clenched his teeth to stop his chin trembling, "So you play dead?" he pushed out angrily, "Muzzle the people that I care about? I could have been _there_ for you. I could have helped. I could have... Do you have any - _any_ - idea how much it hurts? The repetition doesn't make it easier, Cas!"

Cas strode back up to Dean, eyes narrowed again, "You lost me, fine. I lost _everything_ I _was_. Forgive me if I needed a little more than a day to adjust to that. I _Fell_. I'm now stuck as a human, living a pathetic human life. Imagine your body, your senses, your thoughts - imagine ripping those in two and the comparison still pales to the reality of my situation!"

Dean ignored the pressure building in his chest and pushed back, "Boo Friggin hoo Cas! I'm sorry that you _survived_ your kamikaze mission! Real bummer there! Sorry for your second chance at life - Oh, but it's not good enough for you is it?" he taunted, "We're not good enough? Us little mud-monkeys, sitting down here in our own swill."

Dean laughed humorlessly, feeling sick, "Your so-called love of humanity only in effect as long as you've got mojo on us? Are we just pets, Cas? Is that what I am? Your lap dog? Supposed to wait at home nicely until you feel like walking through the door?"

Cas shoved Dean, hard. "I _killed_ myself for humanity!" he yelled.

Dean staggered to a stop and then pushed down on his heels, propelling himself back to Cas. Arms held out to either side, inviting a hit, "No you didn't! You're about as good at dying as the rest of us so get off your damn high horse! Sacrificing yourself for the world is par for the course around here!"

"It's never going to be enough for you, is it?" Cas was practically snarling, and if he came any closer Dean would go cross-eyed. "I can _never_ do enough to redeem myself in your eyes. I can't even _die _for you, without you arguing."

"It's not about redeeming yourself, you stupid son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, right into Cas' face, "It's about moving on -"

"To what?" Cas' voice broke a bit, but didn't stop, "I know shit about being a human, I am _useless_like this. You say it's not about redeeming yourself, but what am I supposed to do now? _Hunt_? I tried that when I still could at least help with my powers, and it was still a pathetic attempt. Now..."

Something in Cas' posture sent a chill through Dean's entire body. Cas, slumped and apathetic and lost seemed all at once too similar to the alternate future version of Cas he'd seen in Zachariah's sick mind game. Year 2014: Cas drowned in drugs and sex because he'd lost everything and Dean - the other Dean - lost in his own anger and grief at Sam - had ignored it, let his only friend slip and slide away, barely a shadow on his radar. His throat was all the sudden too tight, he didn't remember what he was trying to accomplish, only that this -_ this_ -

_No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up... here._

No. He wanted to gather Cas in, hold him to his chest and apologize, reassure him. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not before Cas had let go of everything that boiled so near the surface of his newly human skin. He didn't know where they'd be at the end of this - only that Cas needed to let go of the guilt and anger that he tried so hard to keep down. He steadied himself with a shaky breath, pulled indifference over his face and opened his mouth.

"Welcome to humanity!" he shrugged, "I like to think you're not a total waste of space without powers but I've been wrong before."

Cas' head dropped and he shook it, his voice emerging fractured and hopeless, "I was supposed to die. It was supposed to have been enough, and now I've got just a short human life to repent, and..._try_ to fix this. I deserved to die, not this half second chance that I have no hope of fulfilling!"

Dean clenched his fist, stifled the last protest swimming through his mind and gritted his teeth, lifting his chin and smoothing his face over with indifference.

"Exactly. You'll never be able to make up for the shit you pulled, Cas. So get the hell over it."

Cas didn't look up right away, but his chest began to expand and contract, heavy, forced breaths coming out his nose, and when he raised his head slowly it was like a bull about to charge. All the rage was boiling just behind his eyes and Dean, against every instinct that told him to run, raised an eyebrow challengingly.

A split second of stillness, until Cas' face contorted, all the anger spilling over his features and into his body then Cas shoved himself into Dean, knocking them both to the ground. Dean grunted as his back hit the ground, hard, sharp pebbles and errant twigs stabbing into his back, but he wrestled back. He couldn't stop pushing, couldn't let Cas lose his momentum.

Cas shoved Dean's hands away and pushed him back into the ground, one hand on his shoulder. He wound his other arm back and Dean forced himself to relax as the hit came.

Another and another - Dean took them until he felt Cas' muscles relax - like he was losing his nerve. Dean heaved himself up and pretended to try to knock Cas off of him. Cas' legs flexed at his sides again and two hands fisted at his collar, dragging him up.

Dean looked into Cas' eyes, feral and desperate, and maneuvered his right arm between Cas' elbows, punching up hard into Cas' jaw. Cas nearly _roared_ in anger, releasing one side of Dean's collar to punch him again.

Dean shoved him off in earnest this time - Cas was mad enough to charge again and he wanted a better footing. He scrambled to his feet, spitting out blood and glaring at Cas, daring him to try again.

Cas gave a half-step towards Dean, faking for his right before hitting him hard in his left side - first a punch, then a sharp hit with the edge of his hand that knocked the wind out of Dean and made him stagger. He managed to throw a punch and Cas' head and nose, but was about to fall, until Cas caught him by the front of the shirt again.

Cas observed him for a few moments, victorious and wild and seething, then Dean felt Cas' body begin to twist, faked an attempt to block the knee that connected with this stomach a moment later and doubled over with the force of the hit, gasping.

Cas was breathing hard and backing away, perhaps admiring his handiwork. Dean let out his own growl and ran forward, throwing out a fist which Cas didn't quite manage to dodge. Cas spun and hit the ground with both hands, legs tangled, before getting back to his feet. Maybe he was pissed Dean had managed to get him, but a new fury seemed to spread through his posture as he wiped his bloody lip on his sleeve and _damn._

Cas strode forward again, confident and controlled and Dean backed up, trying to get his own footing. Cas grabbed his side and started pounding his own arm into Dean's shoulder, close to his neck. Hunching, Dean pushed back on his heels, propelling them both several steps. Cas' hand wound to his neck, shoving Dean away and Dean saw the fist coming, focused on letting it do it's job...

His body fell back, he looked at the trees overhead as the ground got closer then arrived with a tremendous force against his side and back, legs and knees knocking together. He half-coughed, half-groaned and made to get back up but Cas was on top of him on the slope of the hill leading into the forest.

Once again he grabbed Dean's clothing, the initial grip digging deep and scraping Dean's clothes against his skin painfully before he was heaved up, then shoved down, his head hitting the ground hard and fists pressing hard into his chest - trying to push all the air out, to crush his lungs and heart and whatever else was in the way out of existence. He blinked, trying to orient his spinning head.

Cas was snarling above him, all heaving chest and white knuckled grip. A split lip and a bloody nose and bruise on his jaw, a line of blood peeking from his dark hair...and Cas was winning this. Dean didn't bother thinking too hard about how he looked because Cas' fist was winding back again.

_That's right._

The fist hit him near his jaw and he was grateful for the slightly softer ground that his head was thrown back into.

Again. This one fell against the line of his cheekbone. and his vision went blurry for a few moments, coming back in time to see the fist that would connect closer to his nose

_C'mon Cas._

Again.

_Let it out, buddy._

Again

_Cas._

He lost track. Cas was on his own now, Dean couldn't count or feel anything but being yanked up and thrown back over and over. He only heard the growling, snorting, seething, labored breaths coming fast from Cas and he was coughing and clamoring for breath until there was a glorious pause.

He peeled his swollen eyes open. Cas' forearm shook trying to hold Dean up and his breath shuddered, feeling cold against the hot blood on dean's face. His fist was half cocked, ready to take up and finish it's course. Dean looked into Cas' eyes, still wild, but searching.

Dean recovered himself enough to find his hands, reaching up to grab at Cas' sleeves, feeling every ache and stab acutely.

He tried to talk but his throat was swollen and he choked on the word.

"Again..."

Cas didn't respond, still huffing angrily out his nose, but his eyes narrowed.

Dean couldn't hold out much longer but Cas was almost there - almost done...One more...one more should do it...

His hands shook against Cas' elbows and he jerked, glaring at Cas with all the daring he could find in himself.

_Do it._

Cas' eyes narrowed._ Why?_

_Just do it._

_No._

_Coward._

Cas released his collar in favor of putting a hand to Dean's neck, pressing with jerking fingers against his windpipe and under the line of his jaw. But after a moment it left, just before Cas' other fist connected one last time with Dean's face.

The blow twisted his upper body to his right, head then shoulders then back hitting the ground. He gasped, breathing in dirt and needles.

All at once Cas went limp. Dean felt the leg on his right lift off the ground, Cas beginning to roll off of Dean, but Dean drew his forearm in, hooking a few fingers behind Cas' knee and pulling it back down to the ground.

Cas made a slight whimper. Dean turned his bruised neck carefully, looking up at him. He looked broken. Thoroughly and completely spent. His eyes weren't wild anymore and he wasn't looking at Dean, at anything, just _staring_, crumbling.

Cas' legs began to tremble and it spread, his body shaking everywhere Dean could feel. Relief and a sudden rush of protectiveness clashed violently and he gripped Cas' thigh, reached up with his left hand, pulled the back of Cas' head towards him and against his shoulder.

Cas's chest began that strange forceful expanding and contracting again, pushing shuddering hot breaths that filtered through Dean's shirt to the juncture of his neck.

The telltale gasp of impending tears pulled at his collarbone and his fingers gripped automatically, his eyes shutting as swallowed his own gasp, tried to stop his own tears.

One of Cas' arms, caught between them, convulsed around a handful of Dean's shirt. The other had found purchase on Dean's shoulder, and gripped tighter as a long, strained breath was pulled from Cas.

Then he let go.

Cas shook and heaved and choked on his own gasping. Dean's shoulder was hot and wet in minutes, and no matter how hard he bit his lip, his own tears pushed out and he gasped. They ran burning from his eyes, along his cheekbone and dipped into his ears, seeping into open cuts and stinging along the way. And they kept coming, hot and silent. He tried to breathe evenly, tried to coax Cas through the racking, trembling motions of falling apart gently.

"It's okay, Cas. I've got you," his voice shook a bit and he thought Cas' hand's tightened in his clothes. "That's it...I'm sorry, Cas...I'm so sorry."

Cas continued shaking and sobbing against him, burrowing into his neck and leaving hot wet streaks with damp puffs of air that landed right at the base of Dean's throat and made him want to pull Cas in tighter. But he didn't know how to do that without Cas suffocating so he kept his mouth going, whispering anything that came to mind, letting his own tears find different paths over his face, soaking into fresh cuts and stinging like hell.

Slowly, so slowly, the shaking subsided to trembles and half-hearted jerks. Cas' breath evened out, still labored and heavy, but regularly timed and free of racking gasps and sobs. A sizeable portion of Dean's shirt over his collarbone and his neck was damp and felt cold where Cas wasn't breathing into it.

Cas wasn't even trying to support himself, his full weight slumping into Dean's torso. It was oddly comforting. Cas turned in to breath easier, his forehead pressed into Dean's jaw.

Dean didn't know what to say, honestly. Sure he could toss out a half-assed remark or even ask how Cas was, but neither of them needed Cas to say it - and he doubted Cas could even _answer_ right now.

He took another shallow breath, turned and pressed his lips to Cas' forehead, then let his head fall back. His fingers still held just above Cas' left knee, more for his own sake than because he thought Cas might move, the other hand carding through Cas hair slowly.

They stayed like that for a long time, silently. Dean could almost feel Cas' heartbeat, and knew Cas could feel his because he was breathing in time to it.

He knew this wasn't over. Cas still needed gentle prodding, still needed to talk, needed Dean to listen. And Dean needed that too. Need to be able to say the things he couldn't when he was trying to start a fight. He wanted to resurrect every thought he'd trampled down, to know that Cas heard and understood...maybe they could get on the same page.

A glimpse of fear blinked through him. Cas might decide to leave anyway. Leave without understanding, without hearing Dean out or finally explaining his own struggles... He swallowed the thought down painfully, holding Cas just a little tighter.

Later...later he'd worry.

Not yet.


	29. Listen

Chapter Title: Listen

Author: archi, Arisprite

Chapter Summary: They ended up just sitting on the floor in the hallway, listening. The words weren't clear, save for the occasional yell. Sam could tell it was Cas doing most of the screaming, the words rising and falling, anger and other emotions cresting and breaking like waves. He'd never heard Castiel like this, and it honestly scared him a little. Charlie was curled against him on the floor, her breathing quick and nervous. She was trembling some, lost in the wake of some of some snippets of arguing that had made it clearly to the bunker. She didn't understand. Sam POV

* * *

Sam didn't know that anything strange was going on until Charlie stumbled into the library, looking confused and nervous. He'd been wandering through the library again - he hadn't had a chance to since the trials really took effect and made reading an impossibility, and it was like the whole place was new again.

Looking up from the ancient text on werewolves (with information in the footnotes he'd never heard of before) he focused on Charlie with surprise.

"Charlie? I didn't know you were coming?" He stood. He glanced back the way she'd come, and then back at him quickly.

"I brought Castiel." She said, biting her lip. "I probably shouldn't have, but Dean made me promise to try and get him here, and then this morning he wanted to come..."

Sam frowned. "Where's Dean?" A sinking feeling was invading his gut, and now Dean's strange, deliberate mood this morning made sense.

"Outside with Cas." Charlie said, "I think Dean wanted to talk it out..." Voice trailed off, rising into almost a question, and Sam nodded as his suspicions got confirmed. Dean probably was planning on talking, but that wasn't all. He looked towards the ceiling, and then back at Charlie.

"So...yeah..."

Sam circled the table, patted her shoulder, and went into the entryway. The bunker was pretty sound proof, and so Sam couldn't hear anything outside if the door was closed. He didn't want to listen, exactly. Whatever they were saying to each other was their business, but he wanted to be close...just in case they tried to killed each other.

"Sam?" He looked back, to see Charlie following him, her hands twisted together. "They are _talking_, right?"

Sam winced.

"Probably not."

Her face fell into a displeased frown, her hands falling to her side. "He just got out of the hospital."

Sam shrugged, no easy answer for her came to mind, though he was relatively sure Dean was well aware, and wouldn't truly hurt Cas. He turned, and entered the narrow hallway on the inside of the front door. Carefully, he slid the door open, not wanting the noise to interrupt anything. As he cracked it, raised voices from the outside became clear, suddenly filling the room.

Charlie looked alarmed, and tried to step past him. Sam took her arm, stopping her.  
"We have to let them do this, Charlie."

She gave him a confused look, denial rising to her lips, and Sam shook his head before she could speak.

"I know." He murmured.

They ended up just sitting on the floor in the hallway, listening. The words weren't clear, save for the occasional yell. Sam could tell it was Cas doing most of the screaming, the words rising and falling, anger and other emotions cresting and breaking like waves. He'd never heard Castiel like this, and it honestly scared him a little.

Charlie was curled against him on the floor, her breathing quick and nervous. She was trembling some, lost in the wake of some of some snippets of arguing that had made it clearly to the bunker. She didn't understand.

"They're going to kill each other." She murmured. Sam rubbed his fingers over his shoulder, trying to tune out the argument outside for a moment.

"They'll be okay." He said, trying to use his low voice to block out theirs. Then he admitted something he'd been suspecting. "Dean's doing it on purpose. He's done it to me. Known there was shit I needed to get out, to yell about, before I could move on. He knows that yelling at him will help Cas, so he's making him angry."

Charlie was silent, looking past him towards the door, and the crack of late afternoon light that shone in, crossing their feet.

"They sound really angry."

Sam sighed, remembering fight after fight, and the things they'd said to each other. How much it hurt to know the truth, but that usually it was better for having been aired.

"Sometimes, especially for Winchesters, that's the only way to get at the truth. Once its out, you can deal with it, but if it stays inside, festering...like poison."

They stayed there for awhile, long enough to hear the talk, crackling with anger change to wordless yells and the sound of blows. Charlie flinched in earnest, before withdrawing to the interior of the bunker, where she wouldn't be able to hear. Sam waited another minute or two. The fight died down, and Sam risked moving, pushing the door open a little more, and stepping out.

The road in front of the bunker was deserted, quiet, and for a moment, Sam panicked. Then he saw them.

Cas and Dean were on the ground, leaning against the bank of dirt and trees that covered the underground portion of their bunker. Dean was on his back, underneath Castiel, with Castiel curled over him, legs straddling his stomach, and Cas' face buried in Dean's shoulder. His shoulders shook, his back jumping and hitching under Dean's furious grip on him. Sam watched as Dean's hand moved from Cas' back to his hair, carding through it gently. If his own past experiences were any indication, Dean was probably murmuring a litany of reassurances, the _I've got yous_, and _it'll be okays_. Castiel was crying, sobbing, like he'd lost everything. Hell, he had. The home he'd had, his entire family, and the only life he'd ever known. He'd lost the center puzzle piece for his soul, and he was _broken_ for it. But, he hadn't lost Dean. That's what Dean was trying to show him today.

Castiel's hand clutched at Dean's shoulder, and Sam thought that perhaps, he was starting to see that.

Carefully, he re-entered the bunker, and went to his room. _Give them space, give them time._ He settled onto his bed with another book, and didn't hear when Cas and Dean came back in.


	30. Want

Chapter Title: Want

Author: archi

Chapter Summary: For a guy who'd just got out of the hospital less than two weeks ago, Cas sure knew how to deliver a beating. Dean supposed Karma was taking a swing for his episode in the woods last week. And yeah, it felt like hell, but every sting and ache and bruise seemed like a badge of victory. Just one step forward, and if it got this mess between them sorted then really, it wasn't such a bad trade off. Dean Pov

archi's notes: I would just like you guys to know that while researching fighting, injuries, and proper medical procedures, I legitimately almost passed out. I had to actually lay down and put my feet up because it was that awful nauseous-but-not-barfy-more-like-about-to-be-sucke d-into-the-vacuum-of-space-and-die sort of feeling. The things I do for you people.

* * *

Charlie and Sam were nowhere in sight when Dean and Cas finally got off the dirty slope and trudged into the bunker. Dean made a stop to his bedroom, pulling out clothes and handing a stack to Cas, tucking another bundle under his arm.

"Shower first. Not too hot - don't want to irritate anything. Then we'll get you looked after. Just come to the infirmary when you're done," Dean said. His throat burned and he knew a good shiner when he felt one. His split lip burned and his nose might be fractured or partially crushed - he didn't know but it hurt like hell. Cas didn't look too bad - at least from today's altercation - but Dean had taken the beating hard and he'd be feeling it for a while.

Cas nodded and shuffled ahead into the shower room. Dean limped past to the infirmary. There was another shower in there - not quite as nice but it would do. Hopefully Cas managed alright by himself.

The infirmary was clean, cream walls with diffusing light fixtures in a small reception area. A room to his left, portioned off by thick curtains that repeated at intervals hosted simple beds with clean sheets. To his right, the examination and operating rooms, each home to several cabinets filled with freshly re-stocked medical supplies. Ahead was the offices and living quarters for a few medical personnel. Between the heavy door to the offices and the curtain dividing reception from infirmary was another door, wide but painted the same as the walls around it. Dean pushed through the door, his footsteps echoing around a tile hallway.

He came to a much smaller shower room with just a few showerheads, and a long shelf where he put his clean clothes. He stripped down, wincing and inhaling sharply at the raw skin and sore muscles and endless bruising, tossing the sweat-stiff and bloodstained clothes into the corner.

He avoided looking at the small mirrors over the sinks on the far wall. He didn't want to see that just yet. The water warmed quickly and he stepped under it, gritting his teeth as the cool water ran over his injuries.

His left shoulder played host to some pretty gnarly bruising, he could barely see out of one eye and any skin not covered by clothing had been made raw and riddled with cuts, scrapes and bruises. He held his hands and face under the spray, rubbing slightly and wincing as the dirt came free of raw skin.

He lowered himself to the tile floor, resting his elbows on his knees and bowed his head.

Droplets hit the back of his head and neck and he breathed deeply.. His lungs protested, but he pushed his chest in and out, stretching his stiff, bruised sides.

For a guy who'd just got out of the hospital less than two weeks ago, Cas sure knew how to deliver a beating. Dean supposed Karma was taking a swing for his episode in the woods last week. And yeah, it felt like hell, but every sting and ache and bruise seemed like a badge of victory. Just one step forward, and if it got this mess between them sorted then really, it wasn't such a bad trade off.

He'd mend soon enough.

The water was cold, but he didn't want to move. It wasn't until he was shivering that he pushed himself off of the ground, biting back a shaking groan, and turned the water off. The towels in the infirmary were a little less plush than the others, but they weren't anywhere near as bad as hotel towels, and he patted himself down, trying not to rub the fibers against his injuries. the white towel came away with small red stains where his cuts were still bleeding and under his nose.

Once dressed, he took a small cart to one of the examination rooms and opened the cabinets. Sam had gone all out when re-stocking, insisting that they had no excuse to use whisky and dental floss anymore when they had a whole infirmary at their disposal. So Dean pulled out gauze, antibiotic ointment, skin adhesives, a curved needle and thread, instant ice packs adhesive bandages, vaseline and supplies for a tetanus shot. He didn't know what kind of medical history they'd invented for Cas and he wanted to cover the basics.

But, first things first. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a small, retractable magnifying mirror out. He looked closely at the swelling around his left eye and nose and gingerly touched the area. It was his skin was swollen and bruised and he winced, pushing hard enough against it to put pressure on the bone. It hurt badly, but as he continued around it felt basically intact. He'd probably just fractured it.

His nose was still bleeding, and he rolled up little gauze bits and stuck them up his nostrils gingerly, just enough to keep the blood from dripping onto his fresh shirt. His lip was split, but not too deep so he soaked up the excess blood in gauze and ran petroleum jelly over it.

His knuckles were a little raw, but nothing compared to his face which had taken the brunt of the fight.

Besides a black eye and a half, one side of his jaw was already raging purple, creeping up to his cheekbones. A cluster of small angry nicks sat on his other cheek where it had been scraped up by the loose gravel at the edge of the asphalt drive. However there were other cuts, mostly above his cheekbone and scattered around and through his eyebrow, that were deeper, some still bleeding.

He sewed up the more severe ones, trying to keep his face still as he stitched the edges flush. It was easy enough to ignore the prick and pull of a needle through skin when the rest of your skin alternated between bruising and scrapes. He put antibiotic cream on the others shallow cuts and adhesive strips perpendicular over the ones that weren't big enough to need stitches but still gaped a little, and turned to look at the other side of his face.

Below the larger of the black eyes - where Cas had hit him repeatedly, the skin was raw and broken, large but shallow scrapes still seeping dabbed at them gingerly, waiting for the red to stop blooming over pink flesh, then carefully applied antibiotic ointment.

He was just to break an ice pack or three when he heard the metallic scrape of curtain hooks along a rod.

"Cas?" he called, voice breaking as he remembered the bruising on his throat.

"I'm here."

Dean leaned out of the doorway to find Cas, his hand holding back the curtain to the row of identical beds, but looking back to Dean's voice.

"Why don't you come in here," Dean said, a little more gruffly than normal. He stepped back in and reached up to his nose, pulling out the gauze and checking it. the flow seemed to have stopped - or maybe the rest congealed in his nose...he wasn't going to poke around and find out yet.

Cas appeared in the doorway, hesitant and weary looking.

Dean patted the edge of the examination table, "Take a seat." He turned back to the cart, throwing the bloody gauze in a trash can and re-arranging the supplies neatly before turning to Cas.

Dean realized he hadn't given Cas socks when he saw the bare feet dangling over the edge of the table.

He looked Cas up the rest of the way, taking him in, really for the first time since he'd reappeared so abruptly into Dean's life.

Dean's clothes fit him fine, but he looked...so odd.

"You look different without the trench."

"It was an overcoat, technically," Cas said, quietly. "I still have it, back at the motel. Though it didn't fare very well. I'll have to use another."

"Maybe it's time, you know?" Dean ducked a little, catching Cas's gaze and straightening back up.

Cas' face didn't look bad. Some bruising under his eye but not much in the way of swelling. he had a bloody nose, and Dean noticed Cas holding his dirty shirt, red spots dotting where he'd obviously used it to blot away blood

"Time for what?"

"Does your nose hurt at all?"

Cas shook his head, "It's sore, but not broken. Time for what?"

"A start over," Dean said, looking at Cas' split lip, not meeting Cas' eye before he turned for the vaseline. He dipped a finger in and then slowly brought it to Cas' lip, eyes darting up quickly for permission. Cas held still and let him spread the jelly over the raw lip.

Dean finished, wiping his finger off on gauze and setting the vaseline aside. Cas nodded, perhaps in response to Dean's statement but he couldn't be sure.

"I'll keep it out in the kitchen or something. Keep it on your lip or it will go dry and split again - hurt's like a bitch. Try not to lick."

He rolled up little pieces of gauze and handed them to Cas.

"if you're nose isn't broken you can just stick these up there until it stops bleeding. Looks like it's slowing down anyway." Cas nodded again and did as he was told.

Dean picked up the antibiotic cream and looked over Cas' cheekbones. Dean had only hit him a few times, never broken skin and Cas hadn't hit the ground with his face at any point so there wasn't anything to stitch and only a small patch of skin on the crest of Cas' cheekbone that needed cream. He dabbed it on, and Cas jerked slightly at the cold.

"Sorry," Dean said softly.

"It's fine."

Dean stood back, searching Cas' face for anything that needed treatment.

"I think...my hands," Cas' voice was hesitant and he glanced down.

"Oh, right," Dean shook his head slightly.

He held his hand out and Cas slowly put both of his forward slowly.

"Dean, I can -"

"Please, Cas," Dean whispered. And maybe he was begging - but he didn't care. He just wanted to take care of this stupid, prideful bastard and he wanted Cas to let him. He wanted to look over the injuries he'd cause and the ones he hadn't caused.

He wanted to know where Cas was hurt - not because he could do a whole lot about it, but just to know.

Cas sighed and nodded, holding his hands out for Dean's inspection.

The palms were red and dotted with punctures - probably from when he'd caught his fall by his hands, the backs bruised and raw from punching - mostly on his right hand but some on his left knuckles. His right arm was bruised along the side from using it to pound Dean's shoulder. But all of the scrapes looked well cleaned, so he dabbed ointment on the knuckles and palm of Cas' left hand, then tapped it gently.

Cas let it fall into his lap.

He watched silently while Dean worked over the knuckles of his right hand, dabbing at blood, prodding carefully at the swelling and making sure nothing was broken before treating it same as the left. He used a couple of strips over a split to keep it shut and then turned Cas' wrist over to inspect the swelling on his wrist.

"Does that feel ok?"

"Just bruising."

Apparently Cas' staring thing was going to be a human thing too. He felt the gaze and hesitated to look up, slightly relieved when he saw that Cas was looking slightly to Dean's left.

"Did you get a tetanus shot in the hospital?"

"I...I don't know."

Dean didn't want to take chances, but he also didn't want to put Cas through an unnecessary vaccination. "It would have been in the muscle tissue of your upper arm - real sore for a few days?"

"Yes, I believe I did, then," his voice sounded distant and Dean watched his expression.

Cas' brows were pulled together and his mouth had parted. Dean turned over his left shoulder to see what Cas was looking at, but stopped himself, groaning, when his neck and shoulder muscles screamed at the movement.

When he looked back, Cas was wide eyed, looking overwhelmed.

Dean didn't know what that look had been about. He kept watching Cas, whose gaze flickered over Dean's features, his breath coming a little short.

"Why would you let me do this to you?" he asked.

Dean's stomach twisted, but he kept his voice light, "What do you mean?"

The confusion fell from Cas' face into impatience, "You're a good actor, Dean, but I know you were holding back."

Dean cleared his throat carefully and turned his back to Cas.

"Why would you hold back?" Cas asked, more firmly.

Dean looked away, shrugging one shoulder. "You needed to get that shit out, man. If that means roughing me up a bit, so be it."

Cas didn't respond, so Dean turned his back, putting the unused supplies back in the cabinets and pushing the mirror he'd used earlier back into a cupboard. He was just tying up the plastic garbage liner with the bloody gauze in it when Cas spoke again. It was labored, like every word cost him greatly to form.

"Why do you care so much?"

Dean let go of the bag. There was a padded stool in the corner and he reached for it, sliding it under him as he sat in front of Cas.

He rested his elbows on his knees, ignoring the protest of scraped skin beneath the denim. Cas was watching him with great focus, as if the answer Dean provided would make everything clear - and not just the fight, but everything. Maybe it would. Maybe it _could_.

Dean adjusted and looked down at Cas' feet. His angular human feet that had long toes with just a little dark hair on them. It struck him that Cas was human - not just an angel running on low batteries, but actually _human_.

He looked up at Cas, meeting the question with resolve.

"Listen to me, just…_listen_, Cas because I'm going to say this one more time," Cas' head tilted slightly, questioning falling to confusion, and Dean continued, "I don't need your help, I don't need your mojo...I know I can't relate to losing anything like you did - I dunno what that feels like, but you're sitting right here and I don't see anything missing that I'll seriously miss. Everything...everything that _matters_ is still here."

Cas' throat worked over his next words for a few moments before they came out, "What do you want?"

Dean gave out breathy laugh, almost relieved. The same question Cas had asked hours ago, only this time, Dean knew Cas was listening, would hear him.

"I want _you_. I want you to stick around. I want you to commit to this family - to _me_. I want us to stop hurting each other..."

Cas looked away and Dean put a hand on his knee, gentle and reassuring, until Cas looked back.

"I hadn't forgiven you when we took off for Lawrence, you know that. You left me with a truckload of baggage to sort through on my own and all I could think was that I was never going to be enough for you. Never enough for you to stick around." Cas looked pained and maybe like he wanted to say something, but Dean continued, "You know me. I'm not into people sacrificing themselves for me," he said dryly, then, making sure he had Cas' gaze, said, "I want to be enough for you to _stay_ for. Can't I want you like that? Just you?"

"Dean..." Cas looked grief stricken, like he wanted to correct him but Dean shook his head and persisted.

"Look man, I'm not so doused in self-hatred that I can't see you care about me. And I know you care a lot - because me and you - we don't have lukewarm feelings about anything...Is it so hard to act like like it? Follow through in a way that can I understand?...I'm being open here. Is it so hard to just-?"

He bit the corner of his lip that wasn't split, dropped his hand from Cas' knee, and pushed his palms together, "...I dunno how much Sam and Charlie told you about the last week and a half, but it wasn't pretty on my side. I managed not to take it out on any_one_ but that don't mean there weren't some casualties."

"...I saw the forest, Dean."

Dean looked up into Cas' apologetic expression. "Oh..."

Cas' mouth opened, hesitated, then continued, "I'm sorry to have caused you so much grief that you saw no other outlet." It was a stiff sentence, but Cas' voice was soft and earnest.

Dean sighed, "...Cas, I didn't know what to do with myself. I was still pissed at you from before - hell, I still couldn't _look_ at you the day we left for Lawrence, then...right before you go fly off to Bunker Hill - you kissed me...that...that _meant_ something to me, Cas." He looked up again, searching.

Cas was shaking slightly, and Dean's chest tightened. He couldn't do this - Cas was open, he was listening, but he was at capacity. Dean couldn't put anything else on him, couldn't ask any more right now.

He put his palms on Cas' shins, trying to reassure him, trying to calm the shaking without making Cas feel trapped, like he couldn't pull away. Cas' fingers twitched in his lap and eyes blinked, looking from Dean to the cabinets and around the room.

Dean's heart felt like it was being crushed in a giant fist. And he was alone, so alone. His head dropped, the pain ripped through his shoulder and the first of hot tears pushed out of his eyes. The hope he'd gathered drained away and he felt himself rock with the effort of trying not to cry.

He was going to be stronger, going to show Cas that he _could_ put his faith in Dean. He was going to be _enough_.

The first of the desperate, cracked noises came from his mouth and Cas' legs jerked under his hands. He was about to shake his head, about to pull his hands back and leave the room and go fall apart somewhere else when shaking fingers touched down feather-light in his hair.

They were hesitant, at first, weaving carefully between strands. Dean gasped and pressed his palms flat on Cas' legs and let his forehead fall against the back of his hand, pushing Cas' leg into the stand of the table.

His face screwed up painfully, as much as the swelling would allow, a series of raw noises ripping from his throat. He felt the pull of his stitches and a sharp twinge on his lip but he couldn't seem to stop.

Cas' shaking fingers soothed over his scalp, from his hairline at the front, fingers spreading and running off the sides like water. They still shook, still trembled against the shell of his ear and he still heard Cas' breath, equally unsteady, but it was rhythmic and measured and after several minutes he was able to push out a steady breath himself. Then another, and another.

Even as Dean stilled, his shoulders and hands relaxing tentatively, Cas kept his fingers going. Dean focused on the gentle pressure, the finger pads that cut rivulets through his hair, almost tender as the pushed the tension away. It drained from him, from the top of his head down over his shoulders, rolling off his back, down his arms, dripping off his elbows and pooling somewhere far below, far away from him. A strange lightness caressed the edges of his aching body.

Dean pulled away just enough to look up, his hands slipping down the front of Cas' shins. The base of his palms touched lightly on Cas' chilled feet before falling into his lap.

Cas' fingers ghosted on the edge of Dean's hairline, and Dean thought he could see some of the same lightness beginning to work on him as well. Cas was still, almost calm, except the very slight movement of his fingers. His breath was even and he looked over Dean's face, fingers following the gaze as they traced perimeters around cuts and bruises, not grief-stricken nor guilty, just _looking_.

Something like understanding crept into his face. His hands fell away and Dean swallowed a protest as they went, focusing on Cas' expression.

Cas' lips parted, and his brows pulled together slightly as his head tilted just so. He inhaled deeply, releasing so silently that if Dean hadn't seen the fabric of his shirt adjust over his chest, he might have thought Cas was holding his breath.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean's lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if he hadn't been so spent, and Cas lips rejoined contentedly.

Dean pushed himself back, put the stool back in the corner and got a few instant ice packs out, breaking one and handing it to Cas. Then he stepped outside the door, looking back. Cas scooted stiffly off the table and followed him out. They padded down the hallways bare footed, and Cas leaned tiredly on the door as he turned the knob to the bedroom he'd occupied, before all this.

Dean watched until the door was shut, then went to his own room, closed the door, wondered fleetingly where Sam and Charlie had got do but decided not to bother with it. He lay down gingerly under his covers and switched off the light before settling in.

The dark of the room was a blessing and he finally broke the ice packs he'd brought, setting one against his bruised eye and the other cradled between his neck and shoulder.

It wasn't solved yet, but it would be.


	31. Choice

Chapter Title: Choice

Author: Arisprite, archi

Chapter Summary: Castiel heard the words, and felt a shaking begin in his stomach. He pushed his fingers hard into the scrapes on his knuckles, absently, the pain grounding him. He didn't know what to say, fear and nerves and just so much _unknown_ made words impossible to vocalize. Dean was asking him to stay, forever. To be with him. Be a family Castiel makes a decision. Also pancakes. The final part to archi and my alternate season 8

More notes at the end of the chapter.

* * *

The morning came slowly, dimly, as the small window near the ceiling of the room began to glow with the rising sun. Castiel rolled over, squinting at the clock and realizing he'd slept over twelve hours. His stomach grumbled, very empty since he'd really only nibbled at his meals yesterday, and then gone to sleep without anything to eat. He sat up, sore and moving slowly, and padded out to the main area. Unlike the first time he'd come out to say good morning to the brothers, this time the library was empty and the bunker silent. It seemed he was the only one awake.

Yawning, wincing at the stretching and cracking of his cut lip, and bruised face, he wandered around the main area to make his way to the kitchen. As he got closer, he began to hear sounds of life, someone moving around the kitchen, things clanking and cupboards opening.

He rounded the corner, and there was Dean. He hadn't seen him yet, so Castiel took the opportunity to watch, and see the damage he'd done. He was moving carefully, using just his right arm. His face and neck were horribly bruised. He was in the process of slowly whisking a bowl full of some white mix, and a frying pan was hot on the stove.

Castiel shifted, not sure how to announce his presence. That small noise seemed to be enough, and Dean started around, eyes wide and then he growled.

"Dammit, Cas!" He huffed, "You're still going to pop up out of nowhere, then? Awesome."

Castiel winced, and shifted again.

"My apologies." He murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck. He hadn't meant to make Dean angry within minutes of seeing him. Dean's face softened soon enough, though, and he sent back to stirring.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked. Castiel plucked at the edge of his shirt, feeling uncomfortable.

"Tired. Hungry." Castiel replied, feeling raw enough to be honest. He met Dean's eyes, for the first time that morning. "And you, are you well?"

Dean chuckled, dropping his gaze. "I'm okay."

Castiel frowned. "You're in pain."

"Yeah, I am, but it'll heal. You want pancakes? It's pretty much all we have. I still didn't get that grocery run made..."

"I've never had them,"

"Try something new every day," Dean muttered. "Come in man, sit. I don't bite."

Castiel, who'd still been standing in the doorway, came further into the kitchen area. It was a large room, more suited for a restaurant than a house, but Dean seemed to be in his element in the spacious kitchen. Stainless steel counters spread along the wall, and the center of the room, and a row of burners and ovens took one wall. There was an ice chest, and a more modern fridge that Dean must have bought. White lights hung from the ceiling conflicting with the morning light form the narrow windows. He sat himself on a stool across the island counter from Dean, and clasped his torn hands together carefully, rubbing along the bruising.

He was feeling ashamed of his behavior yesterday, from the annoyance on his greeting, the fight, the vulnerability of his breakdown literally on top of Dean, and later Dean's emotions in the infirmary which alarmed and worried him... His own emotions were calmer today, but felt scraped and raw, much like his knuckles.

Dean stood from his place, the mix sufficiently stirred, and went over to the hot pan on the stove, pouring out the batter that formed into circles.  
While they cooked, he leaned on the counter, facing Castiel. His fingers fiddled with the spatula.

"Dean, I want to apologize-"

Dean's brows pulled in and he began to shake his head. "Come on, Cas, can you just..._not_ this time?" Dean looked down at his hands. "I mean, get it, but we're good. Can we just be good?"

Castiel swallowed, looked again at Dean's black eyes, bruising on his face and neck, and the abrasions on his skin. He rubbed his hands together again, and then nodded.

"Okay." He whispered.

Dean turned back to the pancakes, flipping them over. The sizzle of the batter filled the kitchen for a minute, and then Dean put the spatula down, his back to Cas, staring down into the pan.

"Look, I get it. You've done a lot of shit that you want to fix. We all have. But you can't live your life like that. That _guilt_ inside...it'll eat away at everything until there's nothing left. You hold on to the guilt, and the _atonement_, and the _fixing_ too tight, and...it's just not good, man." Dean turned around, rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel was sitting very still, but when Dean turned he met his eyes.

"Life is short- shorter when you do the things we do, and it's your choice how you wanna spend yours now you've got it. But you'll miss the things that matter if you can't let go of the crap. Not fix, not apologize for...just _let go_."

Dean swallowed, bit his lip and breathed deeply before meeting Cas' gaze with resolve.

"Maybe you've already figured out what you wanna do with this life, maybe you don't know yet... But if you want to spend it here, you've got a place."

Castiel nodded slowly, and something uneasy flitted over Dean's features.

"But Cas?"

Dean waited for Castiel to look up at him before continuing.

"When I say spend your life here, I mean it - stay here, with us. But not part-time. I mean, think on it - you deserve that...but if you stay...you gotta stay, man. I _need_ you to stay."

Castiel heard the words, and felt a shaking begin in his stomach. He pushed his fingers hard into the scrapes on his knuckles, absently, the pain grounding him. He didn't know what to say, fear and nerves and just so much _unknown_ made words impossible to vocalize. Dean was asking him to stay, forever. To be with him. Be a family. It was what he wanted, yes. But how could he stay? How could he do what Dean advised and _let go_? How was that even possible?

"Hey," Large rough hands covered his fingers, stopping him from inflicting more pain on himself. "Don't do that, okay?" Dean's voice was gentle, and Castiel looked up to meet his eyes.

"You don't have to decide anything now. God knows you've gone through a lot lately. You deserve to think on it. Just know it's an option. You're wanted here."

He squeezed the top of his hand, careful not to hurt his injuries, and then turned back to the stove. It was quiet while Dean finished cooking, but it wasn't the tense silence of before. The words had been said, and each was lost in his own thoughts.

Castiel quite enjoyed the pancakes. Later on that morning, he was still sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, finishing the last of his multiple helpings of breakfast. He finally starting to feel full. Dean had pushed his plate aside a while ago, and they both were sipping hot cups of coffee. Dean was busy teaching him the differences between two film franchises: one called _Star Wars_ and the other called _Star Trek._ From the titles, Castiel thought he'd prefer the one without the word "war" in it, but the descriptions sounded like there was little difference. Space travel, exploration and "fighting the bad guys" to quote Dean. But when he said as much, Dean pouted, and began to re-emphasize the stories and the characters to an amusing degree.

"Which one do you like better?" Castiel finally asked Dean, but the other man shook his head.

"Nope, not telling you that until we watch both. You have to make an unbiased opinion."

Castiel smiled, nodding slightly. "Alright."

Dean smirked back at him, and forked a piece of Castiel's pancake, as his own was long cold. As he chewed, Sam and then Charlie entered the room. It was late in the morning, and Castiel realized that was not the norm for either of them. They both looked mussed, and foggy, with drooping eyes, and winces. Charlie had make up smeared around her eyes.

"Well, good morning!" Dean exclaimed, a little too loudly to be polite. That he'd done it on purpose was obvious when they both cringed a little.

Charlie blinked up at him and Dean, and her eyes widened.

"Dean, your face..."

Castiel tensed, eyes dropping to his coffee. Dean however shrugged easily with one shoulder, the one he hadn't pounded into a visible bruise.

"Looks worse that it feels. Coffee's in the pot."

Sam immediately poured himself and Charlie tall mugs full of the dark liquid, and settled at the counter. They made no move to eat any of the leftover pancakes, looking sickened at the thought.

As they drank, Dean leaned forward, looking at first Charlie and then Sam in turn.

"Had a fun night last night, did we?" He smiled widely. Charlie put her head in her hand, and made a brave attempt at a smile, which ended up looking a bit pained.

Dean's grin widened, as he turned to Sam.

"What about you, Sammy? Did you have fun?"

Sam kept his hands on the mug, but lifted just the middle finger of his right hand out towards Dean. Castiel had come to understand that was a rude gesture, but Dean only chuckled.

"Come on, Sammy? Didn't find a hot girl last night, and have a little fun?"

"Charlie did." Sam muttered. Dean raised an eyebrow towards Charlie.

"Good for you." Dean congratulated her, holding out a fist which she met with her own.

"Heh, it's been a stressful couple of weeks. I needed to let loose a little."

Several minutes passed with no conversation. Dean cleared plates and began rinsing dishes. Sam and Charlie had both become completely absorbed in their coffee, when Dean turned around, looking them both over while fiddling with the handle of his own mug.

"Look, not to spoil your hangovers, but I've got a few things I'd like to get out of the way before we all carry on with our day."

Sam slumped, Charlie's eyes went wide over her mug and Castiel felt a flare of panic in his gut.

"I want to say I'm sorry - to all of you. There's been a lot of crap these past few weeks and I put you all through some pretty unfa-"

"Dean, that was hardly your fault," Castiel interrupted, but Dean raised a hand.

"Just let me finish, Cas." He swallowed, and Castiel held his gaze. Charlie and Sam were watching as well, and Dean looked down, pressing the tips of  
his fingers into the countertop.

"I wasn't at my best. And I don't think that goes for me alone. But it's blank slates all around as far as I'm concerned. I don't blame you two for keeping quiet. Cas asked you to, and I can't fault you for being good friends. I can't changed what happened...but, from now on -no more secrets, guys."

He rubbed his nose, his voice roughening a little.

"Sam, you're my brother. And we've seen a lot over the years, and again and again it hits the fan when we keep things from each other. I know you did the best you could, and I want to thank you for taking care of me." Sam nodded, his eyes a little shiney. Dean nodded back, gratitude on his face.

"Charlie, you are a part of this family. You're like a sister to me, and I want to thank you for taking care of him." His elbowed nudged Castiel's arm, and Castiel also looked at Charlie, smiling gratefully. Then Dean glanced sideways, and caught Castiel's eyes again.

"Cas, we've already talked about this, but I'm just gonna tell you again. You're family, and you are wanted here..."  
It seemed like a general warmth and affection was settling over the table when Dean cleared his throat one more time. "And, guys, about that whole not telling me shit thing...don't do it again."

The morning after that passed quietly, contemplatively. After the past weeks, the events of yesterday, and the heavy sleep of last night for the first time really since he'd Fallen, Castiel felt a little dazed. He figured he was still overwhelmed at the changes his life had taken, and still just tired in his soul, even if his body had gotten enough rest.

Oddly enough, even with all those changes, his past sins and all his mistakes, the people sure to be after him, and the fact that he was now human, and more helpless than he'd ever been...he still felt a small measure of peace.

Castiel was exploring the main library area, and keeping a surreptitious eye on Dean as well. He was still moving slowly, wincing at too quick movements, and the bruising looked horrific, but he'd denied Castiel's offer to get him anything. Dean was seated in the library, inspecting a few old magazines for rips and tears, taking notes on the condition and contents of each one. He'd said that he intends on selling them. He just sat, slowly going over the pages and bindings of the vintage magazines, focused on his task.

Castiel sighed, flexing his fingers, feeling his own wounds stretch and crack across his knuckles. Pain flared, far less than Dean's must be. The guilt flared as well, for yet again beating Dean to the ground after losing his control. It would not happen again.

He continued what he'd been doing, wandering slowly from shelf to shelf in the library, eyes flowing from book title to book title, fingers following eyes along the spines. The collection was quite impressive, both from the original Men of Letters' storerooms and gatherings, and the books that Sam and Dean had found over the years, in Bobby's stores, or from their father. Everything of importance to Dean and Sam had ended up here. It was quite amazing, that human desire to amass knowledge and memories.

There were books and scrolls and papyri here in every language and from all ages. Sam, skilled and brilliant as he was, would not be able to translate or organize all this. They'd been living here for months, he understood, and he'd barely scratched the surface of what was here. Castiel almost imagined he could feel the power from these old writings, just waiting to be discovered. He looked at his hand, resting on a old Japanese scroll case. He could read the text across the top, a story about a fisherman who rescued a turtle. He still remembered the languages of the earth, had personal memories through the history of the world. He could help. For the first time since Falling, Castiel began to see a place that he could fit.

And Dean... He looked over, and as if he felt his gaze, Dean raised his eyes to meet his. His lips flickered upwards slightly, and Castiel answered with a soft smile, and a nod, before dropping his face to the floor.

Dean wanted him to stay. He'd made it more than clear. He'd asked him straight out for that commitment. Castiel still felt the anxiety that the question had risen, the length and shortness of his mortal life, the uncertainty and anguish of both his past and his future. The lightness behind his shoulders would be eternally painful, and the coldness in his chest where his grace had been was enough to make him shiver. He wasn't who he used to be. But Dean... he _wanted_ him to stay. _Him_, he'd said. Not his powers. It was hard to understand, but he couldn't misunderstand Dean's meaning. It was the verbal response to his kiss the day he'd sacrificed himself. That was what was filling Castiel with the peace he'd felt. Knowing, that despite everything, Dean had made him a promise.

He dropped his hand from the bookshelf, and turned back to Dean, felling earnest and unafraid for the first time in a long time.

"Dean?" He said, and Dean looked up, his pen pausing mid stroke.

"Yeah, Cas?"

Castiel took a breath.

"I'd like to stay. Here, with you."

Dean's face opened wide, looking pleased, surprised and childlike. He grinned and nodded.

"Good."

* * *

Arisprite here! First I want to thank you all for reading this crazy, rambling, hastily written AU. We've both really appreciated your support and excitement!  
The genesis of this project came when I was walking to work one day, and I had forgotten my music. Thinking being my only entertainment, and the upcoming finale on my mind, I began to work out a scene in my head. When I got home, I told archi (we're roommates, and she IS the Dean to my Cas) Then archi wrote the scene with my dialogue in "Sacrifice" "Tenderness" and "The Way". That was all we meant to do, but as you can see 31 parts later, it expanded into a very therapeutic way to lead the characters into a better place.  
Also, the fisherman story Castiel reads on the box is from the legend of Urashima Taro.

archi: This fic was a real labor of love. What Arisprite failed to mention is that the first time she told me her idea i promptly burst into tears. I love the intimacy between these characters and wish that we could see more - and this is what we tried for here.  
Dean and Castiel have always sort of escaped definition and I hope we allowed them the room to honestly experience themselves and one another in the way that was best - in the ways they seemed to want as we wrote. We did our best to listen to the characters, and I hope you heard and felt and saw them as clearly as we did.  
Thank you so much for reading (and or participating in meta in the comments :] ) Happy reading!


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